


Take Shelter

by gizkas



Series: in the spaces [2]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Background Kes Dameron/Shara Bey - Freeform, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Galactic Civil War, Jyn joins the Pathfinders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:28:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gizkas/pseuds/gizkas
Summary: “I’ve never had any plans,” he says. “But I do, sometimes, have hopes."She looks up. He meets her stare. His next words are barely audible.“Lately I even have them for me.”--Jyn, Cassian, and the war not ending after Endor. Sequel toThe Restless Life.





	1. The Wretch of Tayron

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! this is a sequel to my fic [The Restless Life](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9090868), but I think you should be able to follow along alright without it. Aiming for it to be two chapters, but that might stretch out to three. We'll see. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> thanks to savannamae17, whose comment on the first fic helped me name the series :D

**Endor, Bright Tree Village.**

 

The sun rises over the edge of the treetops, staining the green moon in oranges and pinks. Jyn rests her elbows on a roped railing, hands limply holding a mug of caf in between her palms. Her side still aches from where she took a blaster shot, now tender and sore where the adrenaline has worn off, but it’s nothing she can’t forget for a few minutes. 

 

Jyn’s not idealistic. She knows that the war doesn’t end here-- that there will still be more battles, loyalist cells to uproot. That a major victory is just the first step on a long path. War has a way of changing in an instant, and there’s nothing  _ safe  _ about winning the day. Saw Gerrera’s people had taught her that.

 

The revelry of the night before is still in swing for some. Directly below her is a drunk pilot singing “yub yub” in various keys-- Rogue Squadron, from the looks of it. Further ahead, she sees the still smoldering remnants of bonfires; couples huddling close by them under shared blankets and cups.

 

But for others, it’s time to press forward again. Techs are punching in numbers into consoles, medics are beginning to take inventory and administer treatment to those injured. There’s the sound of ionized engines humming, prepping for flight to who knows where.

 

Jyn takes a sip of her caf. She already knows which group she belongs to.

 

There’s the sound of footsteps.

 

Jyn looks over her shoulder to see the door to a hut swing open and a man’s silhouette take a calm step out of it. Cassian Andor’s shirt is neatly creased over his chest, his sleeves rolled in the military style to just below his elbows. The tails are tucked into pressed pants, a utility belt. Boots are scuffed beyond the use polish would have for them.

 

The beard on his face looks a little thicker, his eyes slightly bloodshot and circled. He’s the most beautiful thing she can ask to see.

 

He looks at her and doesn’t smile, instead taking a wordless step next to her. He keeps his back to the skyline she faces, his left arm just barely brushing against her right. 

 

She lifts up the caf in her hands in silent offer. He stares at it skeptically.

 

Jyn raises her brows in amusement. “It’s just how you like it.”

 

His voice has a slight rasp from lack of sleep--there hadn’t been much of it the night before. “And how is that?”

 

“Rationed.”

 

His lips tighten at the corners. “Well, then.” 

 

Cassian’s fingers thread over hers, sliding through the tin handle and withdrawing it. The warm mug leaving her palms gives her skin an instant chill, and she watches through somewhat still-bleary eyes as he finishes it.

 

“Thank you,” he mutters, looking a little more alive.

 

It’s the first time she’s ever made someone breakfast.

 

\--

 

“I made a plan,” she confesses at the skyline after a few minutes of shared silence. “It wasn’t like the usual ones. Nothing about forgery, rations, or exit ports.” 

 

“What was the plan?” Cassian asks in an easy tone. 

 

Jyn slumps, brings her forehead to her forearms. It wasn’t much of a plan, not even an A to B but rather a series of stops along the way. It made a short checklist in her mind. See him again. Feel his skin against hers. Share another filmy cup of caf in a poorly lit mess as they waited for one of them to be called back to the frontline. Have someone look at the scar on her face and understand what it meant.

 

She draws in a breath and tilts her face to the side. Cassian’s expression is carefully neutral, in the way that she can’t predict and that no doubt brought him success as an interrogator. She links her own fingers together.

 

“Maybe it was more an idea than a plan.”

 

He doesn’t reach for her. Instead he rests his own elbows on the railing, back still to the sunrise. Cassian is stone-faced, though for the life of her she can’t tell if it’s because he’s upset or taken off-guard or if it’s the result of something else entirely.

 

“Tell me about it,” he finally requests.

 

She bites the inside of her lip.  _ Maybe later  _ is on the verge of her thoughts, but neither of them ever know what later looks like. And there’s a bristle there, somewhat. A feeling of being backed into a corner so she can help him establish the terrain.

 

“Do  _ you  _ ever have ideas?” She counters, her gaze landing squarely on his profile. “Or plans?”

 

Once again, she sees him retreat behind something. His hard expression is a wall. His fingers, briefly, flex. Jyn doesn’t know if the obvious tell is to her benefit or if this space they share is the one area where he can permit himself to feel exhausted.

 

“I’ve never had any plans,” he says.

 

Jyn’s shoulders sag. Because of course he hasn’t. They aren’t in a position to-

 

“But I do, sometimes, have hopes,” he finishes quietly.

 

She looks up. He meets her stare. His next words are barely audible.

 

“Lately I even have them for me.”

 

Jyn doesn’t move away when he leans in. His hand is warm and rough when it first rests against the side of her neck. Cups her under the chin. There is pain when she tries to stand, but it’s worth the exertion to get closer. Cassian’s mouth moves against hers with gentle insistence, a slow pull that makes her drowsy and sated but above all else  _ tired.  _

 

His hand drops from her chin to go to her hip. He’s mindful of the wound as he carefully guides her waist, turning her to face him. She follows, her hands on his arms and her heart thrumming. She feels his biceps flex before his fingers tighten on her, and she wants nothing more than to find their way back to the hut just a few steps behind-

 

There’s a startled noise that does not belong to either of them. Something close to a cough. Jyn turns to see none other than Han Solo standing past Cassian, blocking the thin walkway that leads down to the rest of the village.

 

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he interrupts. His eyes go slowly between Jyn and the back of the man she’s embracing. “But we gotta get going, kid.”

 

She’s not terribly younger than him. But when the General issues a command, a Sergeant follows it without resistance--one of the many rules she has had to learn to understand over the years in the Alliance. But resistance crosses her mind.

 

And Cassian knows it. Because he drops his hands from her and turns. 

 

“General Solo,” he greets neutrally.

 

Han raises a brow. “We’ve met?”

 

“No.” 

 

Cassian stares at Han. Han stares at Cassian. And there is an odd tension there, one Jyn imagines she knows the root of-- rank, and duty, and the fact that there is no small amount of Alliance soldiers who believe Han’s sense of both is not as strong as it should be. 

 

After a longer reluctance than Jyn is used to seeing, Cassian stands at attention.

 

“Captain Cassian Andor, sir.”

 

“...Han.” Han looks at him, then over his shoulder to meet Jyn’s gaze. She looks up with a sigh.

 

“I’ll give you a couple minutes,” Han states carefully. He nods at Jyn, and then retreats the way he came.

 

Cassian looks for all the universe like a man relaxed. But Jyn is beginning to understand his signs--his weight leans a little too far left, his brows are drawn down. 

 

“Something the matter?”

 

Something clearly is. But he doesn’t voice it. Instead he brings his arm to the back of her shoulders, and pulls her to him in another embrace. 

 

She tucks her head underneath his chin, and just allows herself a moment to breathe.

 

\--

 

When she leaves, she doesn’t make him any promises.   
And he doesn’t tell her any goodbyes.

 

\--

 

Save for a handful (Kes among them), the Pathfinders are mostly packed and suited once she gets to the clearing of the village. She shares a glance with her co-Sergeant when he stumbles down a few moments after her, tucking in his uniform and having a similar, heavy, feeling about him. There is a moment of silent sympathy between them-- Jyn heard Green Squadron had landed to join in the celebrations the night before.

 

Han sends her a wry look as he preps their transport for departure. Jyn clenches her jaw and pointedly ignores it, opting instead to strap herself into one of the seats. Naturally, Han follows after her, leaning in Jyn’s direction before heading toward the cockpit.

 

“Wild night?”

 

She looks away.

 

He whistles. “Boyfriend?”

 

Jyn inspects her safety webbing’s clasp.

 

“ _ Not  _ a boyfriend?”

 

“Shut it.” Belatedly: “Sir.”

 

Han lifts his hands, smirking as he continues on his original trajectory of piloting the transport.

 

Jyn does not believe that Mon Mothma possess a sense of humor, but sometimes her appointed superior officer makes her consider the possibility.

 

\--

 

It is not until the Pathfinders are off the ground and into hyperspace that Jyn Erso realizes something.

 

Cassian never asked if she was going to keep going after Endor. And she had never asked him. Hadn’t entertained a single, conscious thought about it. Nothing where  _ after  _ was an attainable thing. Never a  _ maybe.  _

 

The quiet life-- a  _ survivable  _ life-- was never in consideration.

 

It’s the second time, the first being that chance lift meeting on Haven Base, that Jyn is discovering she could want one.

  
  
  


**Tayron.**

 

She breathes in slowly, the taste of dust and dry earth filling her mouth as she keeps her hold steady. In Jyn’s crosshairs, there’s a cluster of stormtroopers surrounding the feet of an AT-ST. They rest at the base of the Imperial Security Bureau’s black site, a headquarters the Pathfinders had been assigned reconnaissance on. 

 

Jyn lies on her stomach on the ridge above its entrance, shoulder to shoulder with Kes, who has a comm line ready. She digs the toes of her boots into the rocky terrain, ready to press up and aim the second he gives her the order to.

 

They have been given clearance to engage the enemy if they believed a favorable outcome. And what was favorable depended on Kes, who had his own launcher trained on the stormtroopers below.

 

“What are you thinking?” He asks, though they both know the answer.

 

“That my toe is beginning to cramp.”

 

Kes smiles, clicks on the comm. “Positions?”

 

“ _ Clear _ ,” comes the voice of Sakas, one of their sharpshooters.

 

“ _ Clear, _ ” echoes Grav.

 

“ _ It’s looking good,”  _ Han’s voice crackles, his team closer to the entrance.

 

“Then we’ll make an opening,” Kes says happily, nudging her on the side.

 

Jyn doesn’t smile. Instead, she keeps her expression neutral as she raises her heavy launcher and targets a canon blast right for the center of the AT-ST’s body.

 

\--

 

The assault on the entrance to the base goes smoothly, at first. Together, she and Kes take down the AT-ST and its personnel. Sakas’ team snipes from a distance. There’s the sound of detonators, and then Han’s team is storming the proverbial gate.  _ Access  _ to the ISB’s black site isn’t a problem for a group of specialists who excel in kicking down doors.

 

Han makes the call to split up factions, so once Kes and Jyn break into the site, they’re on their own. They shoot their way to the console rooms, where Kes takes point and Jyn begins to work her modest computing skills.

 

The ISB is rife with data, but one file makes both her and Kes pause.

 

It’s called Operation: Cinder. A posthumous command from the late Emperor. There’s no time to analyze the data now, so Jyn works quickly to set up a patch between this databank and Rebellion intelligence. 

 

“Stop!” A man behind her screams.

 

Jyn and Kes pivot in a slow, synchronized motion. Jyn’s fingers type in the remaining responder code even as she looks away from the console.

 

A man in an Imperial Commander’s uniform stands before them. In his hands is a blaster.

 

The barrel of which is pointed at Jyn’s chest.

 

Kes immediately goes to aim his own weapon. Jyn’s thumb presses down on the transmission button.

 

“I’ll kill her!” The Commander barks.

 

Her mind conjures up a series of moments in rapid succession. A man, leaning to the side and watching her in a debriefing room. Knees in the sand. Fingers digging into her arms. An awkward stretch across the table on Derra IV. A pair of dogtags pooling on her chest as he lowers himself to her, breath puffing in clouds of cold smoke on Hoth. Brown eyes. A tin cup of watered-down caf.

 

“The data’s already uploaded. Do what you want,” Jyn states without passion or fear.

 

The Commander pulls the trigger.

 

\--

 

She wakes up to a man at her bedside. Her chest feels like it’s a breath away from caving in, her head pounding. For a moment, Jyn does not know if she’s managed to escape death again or if this is what dying actually feels like. Her eyes strain to focus, the face of the man obscured by the light he sits in front of. She sees the face she wants to see. Brown eyes, a dark beard. Hair grown out just to the point that straddles unkempt. 

 

Her hand reaches out.

 

And lands on Kes’s arm.

 

“You just had to tell him to do what he wanted,” he chides, but there’s a soft look in his eyes.

 

Jyn’s touch falls from him. Things slide back into place, spectres of captains become irrational. She doesn’t need to ask Kes what happened, because the pain in her torso indicates that particular answer is obvious. Instead, she struggles into a sit--the air rushes out from her lungs and her gaze goes black and there is the undeniable taste of bile rising from her throat.

 

“Easy,” Kes mutters. He hands her a canteen of water that she tentatively manages to grab. “Field medwards aren’t what they used to be.”

 

“Did they get the data?”

 

Kes’s face becomes hard. “They did.”

 

“What was it?”

 

He lets go of a breath. “Targets. The Emperor ordered certain planets to be razed in the event of his death. Starting with Naboo.”

 

Jyn closes her eyes. She remembers the heat on Scarif. The bright light she thought would swallow them all just before Bodhi’s transport broke it-

 

“Naboo,” she realizes.

 

Kes nods. “Naboo.”

 

He had only told her the night before about his wife’s latest mission--serving as a personal pilot to Princess Leia Organa. Who was currently in diplomatic talks in Theed, if the rumors were true.

 

“It’s always touch and go, isn’t it?” Kes says quietly, more to himself. “During’s not so bad, but the before and the after...”

 

After. Jyn’s not sure she wants to get accustomed to that word.

 

Kes sags into his seat, runs a hand over his head. “It wasn’t a direct hit, in case you’re wondering. I was able to hit his chest when he was firing--shot went wide. Barely.”

 

They’ve been through a lot together, her and Kes. Her and the Pathfinders. She doesn’t know when it became less strange to have someone want to save her life, but she’s found that, at least, in the Alliance. “Thank you.”

 

“Still banged up pretty bad. Is there anyone you want me to notify?” Kes asks.

 

Brown eyes. A tin cup of watered-down caf.

 

Jyn looks defiantly out the window. “Just help me get back out there.”

 

She hears him lean back in his seat.

 

“Sure, Jyn,” he whispers with far too much understanding and maybe a small bit of disappointment.

  
  


**Chandrila.**

‘Banged up’ means mandatory leave. And somehow Jyn finds herself spending it on Chandrila with most of the Pathfinders involved in the Tayron mission, five days out of the rotation to rest and heal before jumping back into the fray. The base outside of Hanna City is surrounded by lush green grass, rolling hills, and even a crystal clear lake. It’s beautiful. 

 

And Jyn has never felt so unwelcomed.

 

For the first day, there was enough to occupy her. Physical therapy, training regiments. Following those, she had made her way to a console and left messages. Addressed to Bodhi and Cassian. Only one word (“Alive”) with the standard date and her current post. It had become something of a ritual, over the years. Last she heard, Bodhi was flying support to the Iron Blockade, and last she wasn’t supposed to hear, Cassian had been involved with the Akiva missions.

 

It’s been three months since Endor.

 

Her breathing still tight, Jyn’s short walks around the compound are conducted more through stubbornness than anything else. Sitting still has never been an option, let alone a desirable one. She needs to keep moving, or she’ll start thinking.

 

She doesn’t want to start thinking.

 

One of her walks takes her past the mess.

 

“Jyn,” she hears Kes call out, “Come have a drink with me.”

 

\--

  
“I’m retiring,” he says. 

 

Jyn sits across from him, five empty cups between them and an upset stomach on her end. And she stares, uncomprehending.

 

“Paperwork’s processed and everything. Have another month.” Kes rubs the back of his neck.

 

_ Retired.  _ A foreign word she’s never been able to apply to anyone she knows. 

 

Her partner gives her a patient smile, before he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small holo. “This is my son,” he explains.

 

The device flickers with blue light, and in the next instant, there’s the small, chubby face of a toddler suspended. He has a mess of curly hair and a wide smile that comes easily in the recording. 

 

“I missed his lifeday again this year. So did his mom.” Kes stares into the holo, but Jyn thinks he’s gone somewhere far away. “The last time I spoke to him was three months ago, the morning after Endor. It was through a patchy comm. We’d almost died the night before.”

 

She nods, remembering. They had been surrounded by stormtroopers--Kes had stared up at the sky for the whole duration, right at where the green and red lights from the firefights burned through the atmosphere. 

 

“There comes a time where you have to be done,” Kes muses out loud. 

 

Jyn slowly refills both of their glasses.

 

“And there has to be a time where you go home. Otherwise, what do we fight for?”

 

She drinks.

 

\--

 

Their last morning on Chandrila, Jyn makes herself a mug of filmy caf and watches the sunrise. And a newly forged part of her pretends she’s not doing it alone.


	2. The Emancipation of Cloud City

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the chapter count went up 8'| THANK YOU to everyone who has commented, kudo'd, or bookmarked :D i'll be getting to comments shortly <3

**Coruscant, the Undercity.** **  
** ****

**  
** His information isn’t wrong.

 

Cassian hunches his shoulders and buries himself further into his coat as he walks in a manner that’s perfectly casual. The make-to Rebellion base is never empty or still. As a post for refugees of the planet’s civil war in addition to military personnel, it’s a logistics nightmare. Every hall, every hanger, is constantly teeming with people. Every door is opened only through military clearance checks, all the rooms framed by armed soldiers who eye every downtrodden man, woman, and child as though they were bombs about to go off.

 

Cassian makes another go of the perimeter’s base. His eyes scan faces immediately and swiftly, an easy taxonomy of _yes_ or _no_ that ends on _no_ every time. The night is broken by flickering neon lights and a few pockets of Rebellion soldiers on shore leave--a group of men play pazaak over an older circuit breaker, a woman in an engineer’s suit gossips with another in Wraith Squadron garb. But everywhere is tense and uncertain. Coruscant is unstable in the best of senses, and Cassian’s eyes alone can see a dozen sniper’s vantage points and half as many funneling points for exits. He’s been ready to depart this chaotic mess of a planet for the better part of a week.

 

He’d had the option to leave earlier. But he had deferred. In favor of his information that isn’t (couldn’t be) wrong.

 

The Pathfinders were due to arrive earlier this morning.

 

Cassian is passing the munitions depot before he sees one, despite looking for the better part of the evening. And he feels relief when it’s a person he recognizes.

 

Sefla. The Lieutenant had been part of the forces on Scarif with them five years ago.

 

“Lieutenant,” he greets, his face schooled as he looks past him to see if he is alone.

 

Sefla stares at him for a few moments, before his eyes widen. Cassian understands the reaction--the universe is a wide place carved wider by war, running into former squadmates is a near impossibility. “Cassian!”

 

There’s no need for pretense. “Where’s Jyn?”

 

The older man’s smile fades. He takes a step back and shakes his head. “Not on rotation.”

 

The words are a small wedge in his chest. His breathing seems to constrain his heart. “Why not?”

 

Sefla sends him an incomprehensible look. “You heard about the raid on Tayron?”

 

Not on record. But it’s not the first minor infraction Cassian’s taken upon himself to monitor the status of the Pathfinders. He nods.

 

“Jyn was…”

 

The wedge drives deeper. Makes cracks. “Jyn was _what_?”

 

Cassian is a dangerous man. The expression on Sefla’s face implies that he was just reminded of it. The specialist evaluates him for a moment, then dips his head. “I don’t know anything but rumors. General Solo can tell you more.”

 

He lets go of the tension in his fingers, loosely shakes out a fist he hadn’t realized he made. “Tell me how to find him.”

 

\--

  
Cassian doesn’t hesitate once he reaches the door to the briefing room. His posture is rigid and his hand nearly moves to to the side of his belt. When he crosses the threshold, his stare finds Han and stays there.

 

“Where is your outfit, General?”

 

Han Solo looks up from a mission log, a hand covering his mouth and chin. It falls as he takes a slow stare from Cassian’s face to boots and back. Eyes flicker with recognition before he gives a lazy, half-spin to his chair.

 

“I’m wearing it.”

 

He has no love lost for this man. Cassian draws a breath through his teeth. “The Pathfinders.”

 

The General raises a brow. “Oh. They’re around.” He leans back in the chair, spins it again.

 

There are severe repercussions to assaulting a General. Cassian tries to stop the hammering in his ears. “I’m looking for information on those involved in the Tayron raid.”

 

“Pretty sure there’s some forms you need to fill out for information on covert operatives.” The General looks _amused._ “Aren’t you in Intelligence?”

 

Cassian grabs the edge of the table. Hunches over it to stare down directly into the General’s eyes. His words are strained and punctuated. “Where’s Sergeant Erso?”

 

The amusement cools a little but does not entirely leave the man’s face. He shrugs. “Vacation.”

 

“Where.”

 

There’s annoyance in Han’s voice that wasn’t there before. “Classified.”

 

Cassian makes a fist, presses his knuckles against the surface. The tension in the room is heavy, and Han sends him a speculative look that Cassian doesn’t care to waste energy interpreting.

 

“You don’t like me much, do you?”

 

Cassian nearly hates him. A feeling that intensifies with every moment Han evades a simple answer to a direct question.

 

“Is she safe?” Cassian demands.

 

“I watch out for my people,” he replies. “Believe it or not.”

 

Cassian knows he needs to get control of his anger. That indignation will only result in the General bristling and closing off. He knows men like Han Solo. Knows that if he offers to buy the man a drink, or cracks a smile or joke, there’ll be more reception. But his rationality is coming second to something else where Jyn is concerned.

 

“You’re due to deploy in a day, aren’t you?” Han presses.

 

Cassian looks up, slightly taken off-guard.

 

“I read your file.” Han smirks but there’s no mirth to it. “ _General’s_ privilege.”

 

And there’s the line in the sand. It’s not escaped Cassian’s attention that he’s broken regulation just by _being_ in this room. He doesn’t care.

 

Finally, Han sighs. “She took a shot to the chest. Point-blank range. Barely made it out of there.”

 

Cassian’s hands feel numb.

 

“The Tayron crew is holed up in Chandrila for a few more days. Then they’re back to active duty. And _no,_ I won’t tell you where our next op is.” Han leans forward. “Satisfied?”

 

The words fall on deaf ears. Cassian only stares at a spot on the table.

 

Eventually, he registers the sound of Han scooting back in his chair. The echo of footsteps, the slide of a door.

 

He doesn’t move for a while.

 

\--

 

Before he’s due to return to Akiva, Cassian pulls the logs from Intelligence archives. He has the necessary clearance.

 

The feed from the Tayron security room is aimed at Jyn’s back. A man he assumes is Sergeant Kes Dameron stands next to her.

 

 _“I’ll kill her!”_ Someone screams.

 

And then, Jyn.

 

 _“The data’s already uploaded. Do what you want._ ”

 

He closes the log.

 

**Burnin Konn.**

It’s been two weeks. The Pathfinders who were diverted to Chandrila are still dark.

 

“Anything interesting on the channel?” Comes a female voice from further up the transport.

 

Cassian looks up to the pilot’s seat. In his hands, he lets the grip on the datapad go slack. Forcing himself to look away, he pockets it and stands from his crouch on the side of the cargo hauler. A few steps, and he’s hovering outside the cockpit, arm braced against the co-pilot’s chair and eyes trained on the astronavigational charts.

 

“How much further until landing?”

 

Shara Bey doesn’t send him a glance. Instead, her focus goes to a few toggles above her head. Her fingers snap them crisply, a series of clicks. “Why don’t you ask me what you really want to ask me?”

 

Cassian clenches his jaw. His leans further against the co-pilot’s chair and stares out at the approaching orange-red planet before them.

 

His pilot and partner for this infiltration mission straightens her Imperial cap. Her sharp, intelligent eyes land on Cassian and she lets go of a small sigh.

 

“Last I heard, the Pathfinders were infiltrating a droid manufacturing facility.”

 

His head snaps to the side. “Where?”

 

“Geonosis.” Shara Bey tugs down the sleeves of her uniform, the grey fabric brushing against the black leather of her gloves. “And that’s all I get to know, too.”

 

Cassian’s brows draw. “How do you know-” _about Jyn_ “-I want information on the Pathfinders?”

 

Shara Bey sends him an incredulous look, before shaking her head and returning to the controls. “It might be once every six months, but I do talk to my husband.”

 

His grip tightens on the co-pilot’s chair. “Who else knows?”

 

“Is there a reason they shouldn’t?”

 

 _Because it’s a weakness,_ he thinks automatically. But the thought doesn’t feel completely right. Cassian frowns, oblivious to the quizzical stare the pilot is sending him.

 

_Because...it’s vulnerable. Because it’s my only bright place in the universe._

 

Shara Bey’s voice is a clear puncture to whatever it is that’s unfolding within Cassian Andor. “ETA 20 minutes. Better prepare to meet our contact.”

 

Cassian nods, frown still in place, as he begins to pull on miner’s gloves.

 

\--

 

Carbon-Score Cantina lives up to its name. The place gives off an immediate impression of industrialism, the air thick with the smell of cigarra smoke, ore, and forge from the nearby mining facility. The crowd is mostly employees from said facility, tired men and women who not-so discretely glare at Shara Bey in her pressed, Imperial officer’s uniform before returning to their drinks.

 

They were here to meet with an inside agent of the Rebellion, a human currently serving as a delivery pilot between the mines and a planetside, Imperial research facility. It was there that Cassian and Shara Bey would carry out their respective missions. Shara Bey, acquiring shipping routes to help identify weak areas in the Iron Blockade. Cassian, gathering intel that would lead him to Imperial Governor Adelhard, a lynchpin in the Imperial remnants and the main force behind the blockade of the Anoat Sector.

 

“Back room,” Shara Bey reminds him.

 

Cassian nods, sending a furtive look around the cantina before he opens the door.

 

The room is as sparsely populated as the cantina proper, with only one low-hanging light fixture in the center of the room. Cassian grips the blaster holster on his side and takes a few steps forward. A man sits at a table, head down, and it’s Shara Bey who calls out to him.

 

“How many wings on a pylat bird?”

 

The man looks up, the goggles on the top of his head glinting from the light. Cassian gives a rare and unrestrained smile.

 

“Enough to get in the air,” Bodhi Rook answers, eyes wide with a happy surprise.

 

\--

 

There’s subtle differences to the pilot. His previously long hair is cut shorter, grazing the tops of his ears. His frame is still smaller, but there’s less fidget to his movements. There’s a thin patch of scar tissue through one of his eyebrows, a miner colony’s tattoo on his forearm.

 

“You’re the last person I expected to run into down here,” Bodhi says, taking a drink from the fermented bantha milk in front of him.

 

The next supply run isn’t meant to occur for two more days, so the debriefing has taken an undeniable turn toward casual. Bodhi’s apartment on Konn is a hole in the wall, barely outfitted to keep out the hostile elements of the planet. Shara Bey sits on one of his chairs, booted feet kicked up over the armrest. She watches them with comfortable, unintrusive silence, nursing her own drink.

 

“How long have you been undercover?” Cassian asks.

 

“Thirteen months.”

 

“Then the messages?”

 

Bodhi winces. “Fabricated.” A beat. “Sorry.”

 

Cassian nods. His own drink remains untouched in front of him. He doesn’t say that he’s glad to see Bodhi alive, because such things don’t need to be spoken to the survivors of Scarif. There’s an implicit bond shared between all of them, a mutual understanding that they have been serving the Rebellion on borrowed time.

 

“Have you heard from Jyn?”

 

It’s an innocent question. Cassian feels Shara Bey’s stare train on the back of his head. He touches his alcohol for the first time.

 

“Last I heard she was on Geonosis.”

 

“I worry about her,” Bodhi mutters.

 

Cassian stares at him. “Why?”

 

Bodhi shakes his head. “...Fires die once they stop moving.”

 

Something hollow drops into his gut. Cassian finishes his drink.

 

\--

 

Two days later, Bodhi flies them to the docking bay of the Imperial research facility. It’s non-atmospheric travel, and Shara Bey’s already established a line of communication with the head researcher. The beginning of the mission is seamless in a way that these missions often aren’t.

 

Bodhi powers down the cargo transporter. The ship shakes and rattles before it stalls. “This is as far as I go,” he says. There’s a bittersweet smile on his face.

 

Shara Bey nods. “May the Force be with you,” she offers as a departure before she slides from the hauler’s doors.

 

Cassian takes his time departing the vehicle.

 

“Let’s take a vacation after this is over,” Bodhi offers in a false optimistic voice, one neither of them takes seriously for an instant. “Mon Cal, maybe. If it’s done being bombed. Jyn would probably like it.”

 

He pretends to consider it. “...with the beaches.”

 

“Might be therapeutic.”

 

Cassian and Bodhi share a look. The pretense drops away.

 

“Take care,” Bodhi manages. “Both of you. And I’ll see you on the other side.”

 

Cassian gives a brief clap on Bodhi’s shoulder. And doesn’t look back when the cargo hauler flies off across Konn’s surface.

 

\--

 

He finds what he’s looking for without incident. Once he messages headquarters, he receives an encrypted message from Draven:

 

_Move for assassination on Adelhart._

 

Cassian verifies the Governor’s last, recorded residence in the Imperial database. And confirms his acceptance of the order.

 

**Cloud City, Bespin.**

  
Three weeks later, Cassian kneels in the middle of an Imperial cell, a split in his lip, his hands joined in front of him by restrainer cuffs and the brass locked in a stalemate for how he should be executed. The mission to assassinate Imperial Governor Adelhart had been a simple two pulls of the trigger. The escape off Bespin’s Imperial-occupied city decidedly more complicated.

 

Cloud City is no military base, and its jail reflects as much. A pressure-locked door, some holorecorders, and a motion detector plate installed immediately in front of the cells were the only security measures by his estimation. He had no doubt this area was originally meant to incarcerate people who were too drunk in the cantinas or who counted one too many cards in the City’s famed casinos. It wasn’t meant for prisoners of war.

 

Even if that’s what it appeared to hold.

 

His cell is empty aside from himself, but Cassian can see other prisoners on the opposite sides of the transparent duraplastic walls. A handful of them are in Rebellion colors--a woman in an orange flightsuit, a Rodian in olive fatigues. There are five Imperial guards for as many cells, four of them regularly casting nervous glances in Cassian’s direction.

 

He watches them back.

 

After a few hours, there is the unmistakeable sound of blasterfire. It’s muted, distorted by what Cassian assumes to be walls. Then the room _shakes,_ small items falling from the guards’ table onto the floor as the Imperials move to attention.

 

Cassian tries to listen. There’s shouts in the distance. It would appear that Cloud City is under attack. He takes a breath, looks down at his hands in his lap and gives his wrists an experimental roll. The cuffs are on tight.

 

“What’s going on?” One guard asks the group.

 

“Rebel scum, no doubt,” another replies with a sneer. “There’s been reports of guerilla strikes all week-”

 

Cassian hears it before they do: a low whistle, a soft tap. He falls onto his side, back toward the prison door and body curling in-

 

A detonator explodes. Dust and debris flood the air and Cassian moves to his feet just in time to see streaks of red shoot out. The smell of an overheated blaster stings his nostrils and he looks up just in time to see a figure step through the caved in wall.

 

She’s wielding truncheons. They make quick work of what remains of the guards. He feels an elated sense of disbelief as he watches in what’s close to awe. Cassian would recognize woman’s combat form anywhere.

 

Then he’s on his feet faster than he realizes. His bound hands pound against the wall to his cell, cry distorted by the duraplastic but still audible. “Jyn!”

 

She looks up. Her lips part and his mouth goes dry.

 

Jyn moves quickly to the center console. There’s a few beeps before the doors to the cells spring open. Automatically, Cassian goes to her side.

 

“We’ll need to move fast,” Jyn mutters as she slices through his restrainer cuffs and presses a blaster in his hold. Her green eyes dart up and hold his own. “The Rebellion’s in the middle of overthrowing the Imperials and, technically, I’m disobeying a direct order from Han Solo.”

 

 _I love you,_ he thinks. It’s not the first time.

 

“Ready?” She asks.

 

He nods. There are a million thoughts running through his mind, but Cassian would not be a survivor if he did not know how to compartmentalize.

 

Jyn smiles. “Let’s go.”

 

\--

  
Cloud City has become the location for a coup. Jyn takes charge, and Cassian takes point, his hand adjusting to the grip of the light blaster. He sees men and women in similar garb to Jyn-- tan undershirts, olive pants, camouflage overlays--holding close to the walls and aiming shots at a group of stormtroopers at the opposite end of the hall.

 

Jyn presses her back to the wall. Cassian follows her.

 

“What’s going on?” He mutters as he takes aim at one of the heavy-armed troopers.

 

“It’s a long story,” she says back, sinking a shot into one’s chest. “Essentially, we’re in the middle of-” she ducks down, a carbon score appears in the wall where her head previously was. “- _liberating._ ” She doesn’t look back at him, but he gets the impression she wants to. “We were apparently waiting for an Intelligence operative to take out the governor. Know him?”

 

Cassian shoots. The stormtrooper with the heavy blaster goes down. He lines up the next one. “No.”

 

There’s a dry chuckle. More an amused release of air. He smiles as he fires again.

 

The walls shake again.

 

“What’s that?” He asks her.

 

Jyn shakes her head.

 

“AHH - AHH - UGHM!” Comes what can only be a battle cry, the sound of boots thudding against the floor, and a flash of brown.

 

Cassian’s eyes go wide in an incredulous (and irritated) sense of disbelief. Jyn gives an exasperated sigh.

 

“Was that-?”

 

“They do this a lot.”

 

Cassian watches as Han Solo charges headfirst after the remaining stormtroopers, Chewbacca close behind. The troopers take a step back, more out of shock than anything. And Cassian hears it again-- the low whistle, the soft ‘click.’ He moves to cover Jyn’s body with his own, but she apparently has the same idea, and the result is a desperate embrace which meets in the middle as a detonator goes off.

 

Once he’s sure the worst has passed, Cassian looks up. Han stands smugly before a scorched pad of what was once a hall. The General looks up at his wookiee companion.

 

“Minefield. Who knew?”

 

The wookiee gives a low groan.

 

“We’re clear!” The General calls out to his people behind him. “Anyone down?”

 

Cassian’s arms are still wrapped tightly around Jyn. Her hands lightly grip his biceps, before she steps out of his hold.

 

“Actually, there’s a plus one,” she replies.

 

Han, Chewbacca, and the other Pathfinders turn. Han’s face takes on an...interesting expression once he recognizes Cassian. Then he looks to Jyn.

 

“Thought I said something about rescue ops _after_ we cleared the corridors.”

 

“You did,” she says flatly.

 

He puts his hands on his hips and looks up. Visibly biting back a stronger retort. He settles on pointing at her. “You and me are going to have a talk once this is over, got it?”

 

Jyn looks the furthest from apologetic. “Sir.”

 

Han frowns. Looks past her to where Cassian stands. He jerks his chin at the blaster in his hand. “You good with that thing?”

 

“Ask the Governor.”

 

Han shakes his head. “Might as well tag along. Let’s go.”

 

\--

 

Clearing out the Imperials takes a little over six hours. Before the smoke has even settled, Han Solo is standing before them.

 

“Jyn, with me.” His eyes narrow. “You, go...somewhere else.”

 

Cassian doesn’t move. Instead he looks to the side.

 

Jyn gives a half-smile. “It’ll be fine.”

 

“No it won’t,” Han states petulantly. “Move it, sister.”

 

Cassian’s hand is reaching out for hers before he has the sense to still it. He tries to pull it back, but his fingers brush her knuckles. Jyn looks at him, startled. Han makes a visible roll of his eyes before jerking his thumb to a side room.

 

“You got _one minute_.” He lifts up his index finger. “One!”

 

The General makes an exit, Jyn hasn’t looked away from Cassian. A small victory, but one he keeps close to this chest.

 

“Are you alright?” She asks, eyes narrowing in on the split lip, the eye beginning to blacken.

 

He tries to arrange his thoughts into something that’s coherent. What comes out is possibly the last thing he should say, but the only thing he can focus on.

 

“You were shot.”

 

Jyn looks down at her arms, torso, legs. As though being shot is a simple mistake she’s overlooked. “Where?”

 

He’s angry, he realizes. A quiet sort of anger that he’s only felt directed at her once before-- on Eadu. The next word comes out of partially clenched jaw. “Tayron.”

 

Jyn stills. He can hear his breathing coming in strained, feels his teeth grinding down into each other. But he waits. He wants to hear whatever it is that she has to say before he starts.

 

Her eyes go glassy. She takes a tentative step toward him. “Cassian-”

 

“You’re at _fifty-four seconds_!”

 

Cassian’s expression doesn’t change, but Jyn curses under her breath at the sound the General’s voice. Her hand rests against his bicep.

 

“I’ll find you later,” she promises.

 

He tilts his chin down in the barest echo of a nod.  “I’ll wait.”

 

Jyn sends him one last look, before she turns on her heel and makes for General Solo’s new, makeshift office that has CALRISSIAN printed by the door.

 

\--

  
It’s the first promise they’ve ever made to one another since Scarif.  
They don’t keep it.


	3. Liberation Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warnings** : so, uh. this chapter is about 1/3 smut/explicit sexual content. if you want to skip that, i now have a fade-to-black version up [here!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9275297)
> 
> thank you again for all the wonderful response to this story!!!! still making my way through comments, i appreciate them all immensely <3

**Chandrila, Hanna City.**   
  


It’s been some time since he’s shaved. Cassian stands in front of a mirror in the refresher, dipping his razor into a cup of water and bringing it to his throat. He holds it there, scraping up. Dips the razor again. Repeats. The movement grounds his thoughts, helps him keep focused on the task at hand. 

 

He trims his beard, mustache, the small patch under his lip. Sunlight begins to stream in from the viewport of his room, causing his eyes to slightly squint and the bags underneath them to become more pronounced. There’s a bruise healing on the corner of his forehead, yellow and sickly looking, from where a bounty hunter had butted him with a blaster rifle. The split on his lip from captivity on Cloud City is healed, but he can see the pale edge of a scar underneath the dark hair of his beard.

 

Cassian is used to staring at his own reflection without passion or thought. It was strategic, as an Intelligence officer, to learn your own reactions. He needed to know what he looked like when he was happy, sad, angry, so he could mimic those expressions on call. Cassian knew very well how to lie to himself.

 

But there was no denying that the face looking back at him is far from celebratory. The eyes are too dead, the lips pressed too tightly. 

 

Expression flat, Cassian puts down the razor and begins to fasten the shirt of his military dress, oblivious to the fact that he’s missed a spot.

 

\--

 

They’re calling it Liberation Day. 

 

Cassian thinks it’s presumptuous to celebrate a treaty before the delegates have even met, let alone establish a holiday. But he’s on leave for the express purpose of making a showing at the event. Mon Mothma had insisted on having representatives from all branches of Alliance service present. 

 

Today’s supposed to be historic. Cassian is not optimistic. Judging from the soldiers he’s seen, he thinks the sentiment is shared. They’ve all seen too much of this fight for them to believe it’s over just because some Imperials want to draw accords after the defeat at Kuat.

 

But still, here he is. His shirt’s pressed, his sleeves are neatly rolled underneath a fresh jacket. Boots are polished as much as he can get them, his hair is combed. If this is what will help the Rebellion move one step forward, it’s a small sacrifice on his part to launder a shirt.

 

At least there was the good sense not to have the talks on the military base. Instead, they’re occurring in the heart of Hanna City at the Old-Gather House-- an objectively beautiful location, with polished marble halls and brightly lit windows that allow for natural light.

 

He’d rather be anywhere else.

 

“Andor.” 

 

Cassian’s focus sharpens on a man approaching him from the opposite direction. It’s been some time since he’s seen General Draven in person, an unfamiliarity increased by seeing the man in formal military dress. The blue edges of his collar are firmly starched, the color washing out his pallored skin from too many days and nights spent indoors.    
  


He stands at attention. Draven nods, Cassian relaxes.

 

“She took you out of the field,” the General observes unhappily. 

 

Cassian nods, following a natural half-step behind the General as the two of them make their way toward the audience chamber. “To represent the Engineer Corp,” he lies easily and naturally.

 

Draven snorts. “At least Mothma has that amount of tactical sense.” He sighs, looks up at the domed, glass ceiling. No doubt filing away the architecture of Mon Mothma’s home city as an attribute to her dossier. “I suppose it’s best to humor her in this.”

 

As they walk, Cassian takes note of the crowd. It’s a mix of military and politicians, soldiers and civilians. The only thing shared among the spies, diplomats, and merchants is a blanket sense of exhaustion. Few look actually happy to be there, and even that idealism seems to be edged with wariness. 

 

_ War takes a lot out of people _ , he observes dryly.

 

“For the record,” Draven growls under his breath as they approach the heavy doors to the hall where the accords will take place, “I don’t like this. Having representatives from the top divisions of the Alliance in one room?” He shakes his head. “Keep watch. Don’t let anything past you. It’s not enough to rely on the Senate Guardsmen and Special Forces for this-”

 

Cassian’s heart seems to slow. “Which forces?”

 

Draven sends him an acidic look, and he wonders when he became so transparent. “It’s a sample platter of Madine’s people. SpaceOps, Infiltrators, UCS…”

 

“Pathfinders?”

 

The General’s upper lip pulls. “A few. Solo’s out doing Force knows what on Kashyyyk so they’ve been temporarily reassigned to other companies.” The man’s brows furrow. “Damned man is the reason we now have to babysit 100 prisoners of war on top of a peace concordance.”

 

Cassian is only partially listening. Instead, his eyes are scanning the rafters, the side halls. Looking for that familiar outfit of tan and green and brown. He almost misses the greeting when Draven gives it to someone standing near the door.

 

“If it isn’t Sergeant Erso.”

 

Cassian’s head snaps forward. 

 

Jyn leans against the entrance, wearing a black flightsuit and failing to discreetly hide a blaster on her hip. Her hair is smoothed back into a neat bun, eyes clear of the smudged make-up he’s accustomed to seeing her in. Unlike others in the Gather House, she looks alert. Ready. Her eyes seem impossibly green and are glaring up at General Draven with barely restrained defiance.

 

He’s missed her more than he’s missed anything over the last month.

 

“Sir,” she allows.

 

Draven sends her a dismissive look before he strides past her into the chamber. Jyn’s attention turns to him. Her lips part slightly, her arms cross over her chest. They haven’t seen each other since Bespin. For once, Cassian feels at a loss for words.

 

Jyn swallows. “You’re blocking a Senator.”

 

He takes a step to the left. An Ithorian saunters past. 

 

Cassian gives an amused shake of the head before he steps closer to Jyn. He leans down-

 

“You’d best go after Draven,” she says curtly.

 

He pauses, staring at her in confusion. “What?”

 

“The General,” Jyn tilts her chin to meet his eyes. “You’ll lose each other in the crowd, otherwise.” She smiles without any humor. “I hear it’s a big ceremony.”

 

Cassian frowns, before he looks around. No one is paying them any special attention, so he lightly grabs onto Jyn’s forearm and steers them to a side corridor. She follows without protest, but there’s still an edge to her expression that he doesn’t like. 

 

Once they’re in as close to a private space as he can manage at an event like this, he hunches to meet her gaze. “Did something happen?”

 

Jyn sends him an imperceptible look, but it’s hard. He’s taken, suddenly and coldly, back to Eadu when he realizes it’s the same glare he received after the death of Galen Erso.

 

“Don’t let me keep you,” she says, dropping her arm from his. “I’m sure you’re expected somewhere important.”

 

The frown doesn’t leave Cassian’s face. “You’re upset with me,” he states. Observational.

 

“Upset’s a strong word,” she says in a forcibly light tone that only sounds bitter to Cassian’s ears. 

 

“Over what?” He scans her face, looking for microexpressions or tells. 

 

Jyn seems to realize what he’s doing, because she drops her struggling neutrality in favor of outright anger. “I spent  _ hours  _ looking for you. All over the City!”

 

It doesn’t take Cassian long to draw the line. His fingers curl into his palms as he draws a deep breath in through his nose. “I was called back.” To assassinate another Imperial. “The window was small, there wasn’t time.”

 

“Or leave a message?” 

 

Her question is sharply asked, and a handful of heads peer curiously in their direction. Cassian closes his eyes, steps forward, and lowers his voice as he tries to hold onto his patience.“It could have been compromised. The Cloud City network wasn’t fully scrubbed from Imperials.”

 

“You broke your promise-”

 

Anger, ugly and hot, rises in him. His fingers tighten against his hand, forming a fist that he keeps pressed by his side. He hears the darkness enter his tone and does nothing to mediate it. “You broke yours first.”

 

She leans away, upset but taken off-guard. “Only because  _ you _ -”

 

“I asked you,” he says tightly, “to come back.”

 

Jyn’s accusation dies, though her anger doesn’t. “What are you talking about?”

 

“On Endor.” Cassian clenches his jaw. 

 

“I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 

He turns his head away in frustration for a moment, before he turns back to her. She’s still  _ glaring,  _ still acting like she’s the only one who can…

 

“I saw the holorecording from Tayron,” he confesses with a dangerous softness.

 

Jyn tenses. He leans closer to her.

 

“You told that man to shoot you,” he snarls. 

 

She bites down hard on her lower lip. He recognizes the gesture from when she tries to keep her chin from quivering. Her eyes are narrowed, and he knows that whatever comes next from her is retaliation.

 

“Jyn-”

 

“You  _ left  _ me!”

 

Cassian stills.

 

Her hands are shaking at her sides, in their own fists. Her breathing comes in sharper now, and Cassian realizes his miscalculation with brutal clarity. They look at each other, angry and hurting in ways they never usually allow themselves to. He works his jaw, trying and failing to regain control over his temper. Jyn demonstrates no such effort, her body radiating open hostility.

 

There’s a scream.

 

And it’s a cold switch, that Cassian makes. The transition from man to soldier is seamless and efficient. He looks away from her at the sound-

 

And the scream happens again, this time in pain rather than shock. Then-

 

The sound of blasters firing in quick succession.

 

“The chamber-” Jyn whispers in horror.

 

Cassian nods, stepping back from Jyn and reaching under the back of his jacket. A small, handheld blaster unclips from the holster and slides into his palm. He turns to see that Jyn’s already pulled one from her hip.

 

“The side entrance has more cover,” she says neutrally, though her eyes are still red.

 

He gives her a careful nod. “I’ll follow you,” he whispers.

 

Jyn takes a last look at his face, before she turns and starts to run.

 

\--

 

It doesn’t take him long to case the scene as soon as they arrive. Jyn runs and slides behind the cover of an upturned table, and he follows her. In the chaos of the room, no one notices two more players. 

 

The audience chamber is riddled with carbon scoring and has transformed into a firefight. In a perfect row, Cassian sees the attackers. It’s the prisoners of war from Kashyyyk, all of whom stare ahead with synchronized, blank expressions and blasters tight in their hands. As guests of honor for the Liberation Day proceedings, they had been seated at a table close to Rebellion and Imperial officials.

 

Damn.

 

Cassian shifts his gaze to the other side of the room. There, he sees the bodies. A numb sort of horror grips him when he recognizes a few who have fallen: Mon Mothma, General Crix Madine. Commander Kyrsta Agate.

 

“Shoot the bastards!” He hears Draven’s voice call out from somewhere in the smoke. 

 

Cassian aims his shots. 

 

Jyn’s hand grabs the sleeve of his jacket. “They’re not in their right minds!” 

 

He knows. He also knows that it’s irrelevant now. Cassian meets her glance and shakes his head. Her face falls, but her fingers slide from his arm. A blaster round flies by his ear, sinks into the wall behind him. Cassian ducks down, pressing between Jyn’s shoulder blades to get her to do the same.

 

Cassian fires. Three of them go down without so much as a whimper. He swallows, takes aim again-

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jyn reach for her truncheons.

 

“ _ Jyn _ ,” he warns. 

 

“I’m not going to shoot them!” She retaliates.

 

“They’re not going to give you a choice!”

 

The prisoners take it as a challenge. A volley of blaster shots pepper the table. They crouch under cover, face to face, knee to knee. 

 

“I can take them out without killing them,” she presses.

 

Cassian looks at her. The recording from Tayron plays in his mind. Whatever fears are settling in his gut are obviously able to be interpreted by Jyn, because her grip on the truncheons loosens. 

 

“Cassian…”

 

His fingers tighten on the hilt of his blaster. “There’s about eighty armed prisoners left.”

 

Not good odds. There’s never good odds with them.

 

Jyn stares up at him. He looks down. His mind falls away to years ago, to the darkness of the elevator ride he assumed would be his last. Cassian remembers staring into Jyn’s eyes and understanding  _ loss  _ in a way he never had before. He’d been prepared, then, to let go of something that had never started.

 

Now, he might have to let go of something else. 

 

“I love you,” he says carefully. They are not quite touching.

 

Jyn’s face is stricken. “Thank you.”

 

Their fingers re-adjust their grips on their blasters.

 

He nods. Listens to the blaster fire around them. Counts for gaps-- there aren’t any. “Ready?”

 

Jyn exhales, and he sees that she is realizing the same thing he is. She stares at him for a second longer than wise, before she clears her throat. “Yes.”

 

Cassian leans forward, presses his forehead to hers. Then he straightens-

 

“ _ PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS _ !”

 

His eyes widen. To his side, Jyn tenses.

 

“Set to stun, shoot!” 

 

There’s another set of blaster volleys. Cassian counts them, before he risks breaking cover and looking over the edge of their makeshift barricade.

 

The last of the prisoners topples over.

 

He turns to Jyn in disbelief. She laughs, dry and harsh and  _ alive,  _ and tosses her head back.

 

A flood of Senate Guardsmen pour into the room.

 

\--

 

After it ends, after they’re questioned, and after they report to their superior officers, they, along with other Alliance military personnel, are escorted back to the Rebellion base where they are instructed not to leave the planetside until after the investigation has been completed. 

 

He waits until they are close to his temporary quarters before he stops and turns to Jyn. They aren’t alone in the corridor--several soldiers are running back and forth, a few more are sluggishly waking up and preparing for third shifts--but they might as well be. Her forehead is streaked with an oil stain, her hair coming loose from the bun that had been so tidy only a few hours ago. Cassian’s body is near trembling with adrenaline, as shock wears off and something else takes its place.

 

He hasn’t forgotten their earlier exchange in the corridor, and he doubts she has either. But for right now, that moment seems distant and inconsequential. Something that can be delayed. He watches her for a short while that isn’t long enough, his breathing coming in shorter and his chest pounding.

 

It’s not enough. It’s all not enough.

 

Jyn seems to understand, if not the meaning of his halt, its intention. She steps closer, arms moving up to hook around his neck. Her callused thumb is rough against the base of his head and it sends a jolt of hunger down his spine. He hears the dull scrape of her boots coming to stand on the inside of his own, feels the heat of her front pressed against him.

 

Cassian brings a hand to her neck, lets his thumb brush her cheek and land behind her ear. With an easy movement, the hand slides up into her hair and he leans down to kiss her. Jyn’s lips are chapped but warm, her mouth is eager under his and so he lets the contact become desperate. His arms wrap tightly around her, hands grasping the sides of her and not letting go for anything.    
  


It doesn’t matter that this is in the middle of a Rebellion base. That there are soldiers sending them curious looks. There’s only one thing Cassian allows to hold his attention in this moment and it’s the woman in his arms.

 

Jyn’s arms fall from his neck and slide to his chest. Her palms are hot through the thin fabric of his dress shirt, and she gives him a light push. He follows her instruction, breaking the kiss and taking a half step back. 

 

Her eyes flicker up, the pupils slightly dilated. “Where are we going?”

 

Cassian reaches past her head, and pushes a console button on the nearby wall. The door behind her slides open with a light puff of air. Hands still on his chest, Jyn backs into it, and he follows. The door to his temporary quarters slides shut behind him, and they’re left to the pitch black of his small room.

 

Cassian moves forward, until he feels Jyn’s back press against the wall. Without waiting for his eyes to adjust or to turn on the lights, he holds a shoulder underneath each of his hands. Cassian lowers his face to hers, feeling her slight exhale of surprise before he kisses her again. Her lips part underneath his, and he deepens it until the only thing he can think about is the blood rushing under his skin and the patterns of their breathing growing closer together.

 

He feels her fingers slide down his chest and begin to fumble with his belt. Without breaking contact, he shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and lets it fall to the floor. He tilts his head, the rough hair of his beard grazing the sensitive skin of her throat before he kisses it. Cassian listens to Jyn’s breathing, taking note of where her inhales are sharper as he travels up and down the column of her neck with his lips and tongue. 

 

Her fingers still from where they have half-pried off his utility belt, instead gripping around the material and pulling his hips forward. One of her hands stays where it is, while the other undoes the fasten of his pants. He barely has time to process it before her fingers slip around him, warm and smoothing down to the base-

 

The effect is immediate, and he’s growing hard already. Cassian breathes out carefully, trying to slow down his body. He pauses against Jyn and closes his eyes, bringing his nose to rest at the juncture of her shoulder and neck in an attempt to pace himself.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jyn asks, her hold on him going lax.

 

“I need a second,” he answers, her pulse in his ear. Because he wants it differently this time. For once, he doesn’t want being together to be something that’s rushed or stolen. Cassian pulls away, eyes adjusted to the dark enough for him to see the edges of Jyn’s features.

 

“Let’s go slower,” he requests, one of his hands finding hers in the dark and lacing his fingers through it. His thumb traces over her wrist. 

 

“Slower,” she repeats.

 

Her hand withdraws from his pants and for a moment he wants to take back what he asked. But Cassian swallows and instead he brings a free hand to the zipper of Jyn’s flightsuit. He watches her as he pulls down on it, waiting for her reaction. Once it’s to her waist, all she does is shrug her arms out of it, until the black fabric hangs at her waist. He brings his hands to rest against her stomach, the toned skin able to be felt through the thinness of her undershirt. It’s too dark to fully see, so he guides them up underneath the shirt, tracing her scars and ghosting his fingers over the spaces between her ribs.

 

He stops when he feels a hard, knotted mass in the flattened space between her breasts. It’s far too close to her heart, the skin raised and he knows what this mark is without having to ask. 

 

_ “Do what you want,”  _ she had said.

 

Cassian moves his hand to cover it. The blaster scar is nearly as wide as his palm.

 

“Not right now,” Jyn mutters in the dark. One of her hands rests on his shoulder.

 

Cassian closes his eyes. 

 

“ _ Please,”  _ Jyn whispers. “Just. Not right now.”

 

After a second, he nods. Instead, he lifts the rest of her undershirt up, pulling it slowly from her body. Then he carefully slides the straps of her bra from her shoulders, one of his hands moving to her back to unfasten it. It falls to the ground, and Jyn makes no move to cover any part of herself to him.

 

Cassian brings his hands to cup her each of her breasts. They’re a little larger than his hold, the skin underneath his touch raised from goosebumps. He slowly massages them, eyes searching for Jyn’s in the dark. He hears her familiar, sharp inhale when his thumb ghosts over her nipple, hears it grow sharper when he gently applies pressure to it. 

 

Keeping his hands in place, Cassian drops to one knee. He presses his forehead reverently against her stomach and holds it there for a moment. Then he brings his hands from her breasts, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of her flightsuit and pulling down. It piles to the floor unceremoniously, and in a moment her underwear joins it. He pulls her boots off before he runs his hands up the backs of her thighs, the curve of her ass. Her fingers start to card through his hair.

 

Cassian returns his hold to the back of her legs, and he inches them apart in a gentle, insistent movement. He brings his face lower to her, brushing his nose over her before pressing a kiss against her. She tenses, and fails to stifle a groan at the sensitive contact, and Cassian takes that as encouragement. He parts his lips, closes them lightly over her clit, and repeats the motion with the addition of his tongue.

 

“Damn,” she whispers. The fingers in his hair tighten.

 

He moves his lips to her entrance, enjoying the way he can feel the muscles of her stomach tense the faster he moves his tongue. One of his hands pushes on the back of her thigh, guiding Jyn to hook her leg over one of his shoulders. She follows his wordless instruction, giving a short exhale as the angle shifts for her and her leg presses against his ear. Cassian carefully observes the wordless cues she provides him and responds, adjusting his pace and pressure according to how hard she pulls at his hair, how insistent the heel of her foot presses between his shoulder blades. In moments, he hears her trying her best not to pant.

 

“Cassian,” she mutters. 

 

He pulls away enough to look up. He can make out her back pressed hard against the wall to maintain her balance, the fact that her head is tossed back. Cassian does his best to restrain himself. 

 

“What do you want?” he asks. 

 

“To stop going slow,” she replies dryly. 

 

He smiles, a quiet expression that she’s unable to see. Jyn lowers her leg back to the ground, her fingers going to his shoulders and pressing on them.

 

“Stand up,” she demands.

 

Cassian decides to follow the order. He doesn’t resist as Jyn pulls down his pants, followed by his underwear. His hands return to the backs of her legs, grip the sides of her hips, and he bends before lifting. She responds quickly, one of her arms bracing her weight against the side of the adjacent wall and her legs wrapping around his waist. Her other hand goes to their flush waists, finding and guiding him to her. 

 

He hisses through his teeth as she rises and sinks, the sudden heat banishing any restraint he managed to find. Cassian’s head leans forward, resting on her shoulder, and Jyn brings her free hand up to grab onto his. They take a moment to adjust, and Cassian lets everything about her overwhelm his senses-- the feel of her around him, the smell of her skin (sweat and oil), the silence of this space broken only by the sounds of them. When he runs out of patience, he lifts his head up only enough to utter a low growl in her ear.

  
“Don’t let go.”

 

Her fingers bite down into the muscles of his shoulders, which he feels flex as he holds her still and thrusts upward in movements which are slow and deep. Jyn’s heels dig into the small of his back and push harder in time to the rhythm he sets. There’s a light pain to it, but it’s worth it to feel her inner thighs press hard against the outside of his hips. 

 

“Harder,” she begs in his ear.

 

He obeys, moving faster and driving his hips up into hers with enough force to press her against the wall. His hold tightens, arm muscles flexing and straining as he feels himself go deeper with every move. Jyn rolls her hips, changing the angle to something deeper still and he groans before pressing his mouth to the bottom of her throat and kissing it hard.

 

One of her hands raises from his shoulder, tugging on his hair and his head pulls back. Jyn lets out a ragged exhale before she brings her mouth to his own, kissing him just a second before he feels her shudder around him in orgasm.

 

He continues to move through the sensation, his abdomen straining in response to her body. Jyn bites down lightly on his lower lip, and he hisses as he tightens.

 

“Cassian,” she mutters against his mouth. And it’s the sound of his name that brings him to the edge.

 

He thrusts again, and a final time after that, as she holds her position. He empties into her, feeling his body go limp as the undeniable feeling of being sated replaces adrenaline. Carefully, he pulls out and lowers her until her feet touch the ground. She stays flush against him for a moment, until he takes a step back. His hands go back to her hips, and he leans down in order to kiss her softly.

 

She returns it, and her fingers ghost over his arms. When he pulls back, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against her--craving  _ more _ , a way to make their time together stretch further.

 

It’s not just about the sex. He feels as close to her when they’re standing in the same room. Fighting together. Sharing a drink. Anything she does only pulls him in closer-- because Jyn Erso is a stubborn, heavy force in the center of every space she occupies.

 

He brushes back a piece of her hair. She smiles.

 

And for right now, Cassian Andor is just a man grateful for any time spent in her orbit.


	4. The Battle of Jakku

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a short epilogue to go after this, and we're done!
> 
>  **warnings** this chapter for violence, death, injury, and being buried alive
> 
> THANK YOU tremendously for all your comments, bookmarks, and kudos! i'll be getting to replying to all the comments shortly <3

**Chandrila, outside Hanna City.**

 

That night, Jyn falls into a hard enough sleep to actually dream. Upon waking, she only remembers pieces of it. There had been the man in white, then her mother. Lyra Erso had held her beloved kyber crystal (the one that Jyn _lost_ ) to her chest. Then she was in the bottom of the cave of her mind, the light breaking through the hatch in a thin but unwavering halo.

 

She remembers reaching up into it, her fingers blocking the brightness as if they could hold on. _Just a bit further,_ she had thought. _And I’ll leave for good._

 

The dream shortens out like a blown fuse before Jyn knows whether she made it to the top.

 

\--

 

This is what peacetime might look like: lying on her back, one of her legs thrown lazily over his, the feel of his arm under her neck. Jyn doesn’t know the last time she _slept,_ let alone was able to wake up because her body decided it had enough of it. Jyn knew too much about life to believe the respite would feel nice in the long run. The problem with resting after not doing it is that things like exhaustion and pain now have the time to catch up.

 

His room is still dark. They never had bothered to turn a light on. Jyn knows that Cassian’s awake next to her--his breathing is level in a way that speaks to control rather than relaxation, his thumb rubbing absently over her opposite shoulder. But he feigns that place where nothing exists outside the moment as best he can, and she feels like it’s only courtesy to return the favor. Jyn shifts, moves her head from his arm to rest against his chest. His heartbeat is calculated in the same manner as his breathing, the chain from his dogtags presses small divots into her cheek.

 

There’s going to be a comm soon. Because there’s always a comm. One of them will be thrown somewhere else in the galaxy. Jyn closes her eyes, wondering if she minds.

 

This is what peacetime might look like. What’s in this room. She tries to imagine anything else outside of it--what she might do instead of fight. If she would be a Kestrel or a Lianna or someone new. The resulting picture is one that’s full of empty space she can’t fill. But Jyn hasn’t had a dream for very long, maybe it’s just something that takes getting used to.

 

So she decides to ask the expert. “What’s the end of the war look like for you?”

 

Jyn knows he hears her, because his thumb stops moving. She hopes he understands the question.

  
“We’re in it,” is all he says.

 

...She thinks that’s an answer she can live with.

 

Her comm goes off, a muted shrill buried underneath a pile of discarded clothing on the floor.

 

\--

 

Han Solo has gone and liberated a planet.

 

Jyn assumes that’s normally a cause for celebration. But it was unsanctioned. And the prisoners Han had _also_ liberated just shot down most of the Rebellion’s top command. So there’s admittedly little fanfare surrounding the freedom of Kashyyyk. _No medals this time,_ she thinks with a tired and resigned sort of amusement.

 

This information is passed down to her through a representative of General Crix Madine, who also informs her that she will temporarily be reporting to him. While the whole _situation_ is resolved. No one on base knows for sure who is alive or dead in the aftermath of the Liberation Day attack, but it is rumored that Madine is among the latter.

 

Mon Mothma is stabilized. Jyn doesn’t know why that sets her at ease, but it does.

 

Jyn also finds out that she’s grounded until Solo returns and re-assumes control of the Pathfinders. His ETA is four days. The Rebellion has just imploded, and it needs time for the debris to settle before routine goes back to normal.

 

Four days. It might as well be a lifetime.

 

\--

 

After the meeting, Jyn finds herself staring at a console near the base’s main facilities. It’s one that hosts the secure network for the Rebellion, and she’s hit with a visceral image of Kes standing before it, looking up information on his wife and smiling.

 

She misses him. Another selfish part of her, to miss someone who clearly wanted to leave.

 

Jyn opens it up. Searches.

 

There’s a message to her from Bodhi, sent a little less than an hour after the attack. Three words:  
  
_Check in.please._

 

Jyn hesitates, her fingers hovering over the console. Then she makes a decision.

 

 _We’re both safe._ And posts.

 

While they’ve been a team before, this is different. This is making breakfast and sharing a bed. Jyn isn’t done being angry with Cassian--for breaking his promise on Bespin, for leaving _,_ for being angry at her _\--_ but this feels like moving forward somehow.

 

She exits the screen and tries to convince herself that what she isn’t feeling is panic.

 

\--

 

Jyn’s sitting in the mess for about the third hour when she realizes she doesn’t know where to go next. There’s nothing to pack, nowhere to ship off to. The only person she has to report to has far more important matters to attend to than occupying a straggling sergeant.

 

The best option is Cassian’s room. Although the doubt, the _unknowing_ is there. Jyn can survive a lot of things, but going back to only to find an empty room and a crisply made bed is both too much and too little.

 

Her own quarters are communal, shared with three other sergeants. Five years in the Alliance, and Jyn still hasn’t warmed up to people much.

 

So she does what seems safe enough. And swaps a bottle of Tarisian moonshine from a Private in exchange for a pack of someone else’s cigarras.

 

\--

 

The bottle’s half gone and she doesn’t trust herself to stand. Naturally that’s when he finds her.

 

“What are you doing.” Cassian doesn’t quite ask. Jyn doesn’t quite doubt that he’s seen similar displays throughout the years.

 

“Killing time,” she replies, which might be the most absurd thing she’s ever said. But she can’t stop staring at him. The fact that he’s still on Chandrila and the aching relief that comes with it.

 

He looks as wrung out as she feels. Confirmed by the fact that he simply pulls out the chair across from her and sits in it. Cassian doesn’t look directly at her, instead somewhere else out in the distance.

 

“When did your meeting with Captain Benev end?” Of course he knows the name of Madine’s stand-in when she’s already forgotten it.

 

Jyn raises her brows, lays her hand flat over the bottle’s meniscus. “About…” Moves it to the top. “Here.”

 

He’s silent, arms folded too casually over his stomach. Jyn wonders if she’s broken another promise he’s held her to. Cassian turns his gaze to her face, the look intent and it makes something flip in her stomach. “You’re not leaving, then.”

 

Jyn shakes her head. “Han Solo liberated a planet. Now we wait for paperwork.”

  
Cassian surprises her by nodding without the small wrinkle between his brows that usually accompanies Han Solo’s name.

 

They aren’t sitting next to each other. There’s a healthy distance in the space, in their conversation. It occurs to her that maybe he’s waiting for something.

 

“Do you want a drink?” She lifts the bottle, gives it a small shake.

 

“No.”

 

Jyn starts to pour another for herself.

 

“It’s likely I will be reassigned tomorrow,” he says evenly.

 

Her hand stills. She twists the bottle away from her glass without any alcohol spilling from it and sets it down on the table with a hard thud. “Do you know where?”

 

Cassian’s expression tells her that he does. The small shake of his head tells her that she can’t know.

 

“Right,” Jyn mutters. She feels foolish for asking.

 

He watches her in that unnerving way. Jyn stares at the galaxy’s suddenly most unappealing bottle. Her eyes burn, and she doesn’t know why she’s angry all over again. This is who they are. People who leave. People who are left.

 

She’s broken from her self-imposed misery by a hand on her forearm. It’s warm, heavy, and dry. The fingers have hard calluses from triggers. Jyn looks up to its owner.

 

Cassian’s gaze is soft, and she wonders what it is that she’s given away to him this time. What story he’s been able to deduce from the way she leans or the how the corners of her lips turn down.

 

He waits until her anger slows to a simmer before he speaks.

 

“It was my decision to go,” he starts. His hand doesn’t adjust its pressure on her arm even though she tenses. “On Bespin. It was my decision.”

 

She wants to snarl, to push his touch away from her. To scream out _how could you._ Because Jyn Erso has had exactly four people love her and they all put something else in front of it.

 

She doesn’t know what she expects. Jyn looks down at the floor, the scoffed duraplastic a remarkable difference to the polished marble of the Old Gather-House. She doesn’t scream. Instead she feels something in her burn into a slow harden.

 

His hand is still on her arm.

 

He exhales slowly. “Did you remember what I asked of you on Endor?”

 

_Don’t be sorry. Just come back._

 

She doesn’t look up from the floor, but her teeth bite down into her lower lip. Her grip on the bottle tightens. Jyn thinks about the blaster aimed square at her chest on Tayron. What had mattered to her most was the success of the data transfer. Not her life. Not the effect her life might have had on anyone. Honesty, raw and vulnerable, is not something she is good at.

 

“No,” she bites out.

 

His words are level. “Then that was your decision.”

 

Jyn finds she has nothing to say to that.

 

\--

 

Their walk back to Cassian’s quarters is a silent one. Her balance is a little unsteady though her mind feels sober. He slows his own pace to keep it even with hers. She has, for an instant, the bizarre thought that it’s almost as if she’s walking him home

 

He stops at the threshold and turns toward her before punching in the door console’s code. “What do you want to do?”

 

Jyn knows he’s not asking about only tonight. She stares up at him, the two close but not touching, and there is something unmistakably sad about the way he looks at her. The anger she still carries with her simmers. He had put the Rebellion before them both. She had done the same. What did it mean, to love a person second to a cause? And did it matter if it was mutual? Because if she had to choose between a thousand mornings like the one today or to _keep going_ she knows which one she would pick. She knows which one Cassian would pick. Because that was who they were at the heart of it.

 

But she also knows that wherever she keeps going, it’s Cassian she carries with her.

 

He’s looking at her like she’s about to ruin him. She won’t. Not this.

 

She raises her hand to his cheek. He hasn’t shaved today, the new stubble rough under her fingertips.

 

“I don’t know how to be with someone,” Jyn confesses. “But I’d like for you to let me keep trying.”

 

He nods, holding her wrist and turning it enough so that he can kiss her palm.

 

It’s then she finally tells herself that she is in love with Cassian Andor.

 

\--

 

She wakes up to a kiss on her forehead, a hand smoothing up her arm. It doesn’t take Jyn long to orientate to where she is. She opens her eyes.

 

And this is what wartime looks like: Cassian, already fully dressed and kneeling beside where she still sleeps in his bed. A chrono on the night stand reading 02:39. Feeling the headache from exhaustion, her heart pounding because this is what goodbyes are.

 

“I have to go,” he whispers, hand still on her arm. He’s watching her like he might not see her again.

 

Jyn sits, the sheet falling to her waist. Her hands come up to frame either side of his neck as she pulls up to kiss him. It’s soft, softer than anything she’s ever done before.

 

He leans away, visibly swallows.

 

And then he’s gone in the few, short steps it takes for him to cross the room.

 

Jyn stares at what else he’s left behind. Her boots are by the door, his side of the sheets are still wrinkled. He’s folded her clothes and placed them on the foot of the bed.

 

She hears her heart pound in her head. _Keep moving,_ it says. _Keep going._

 

Before she has enough sense to stop herself, Jyn is pulling on her uniform and heading out the door.

 

\--

 

This might be treason. Potentially insubordination. At the very least, it’s certainly defying orders.

 

But Jyn runs until she can grab onto the sleeve of his jacket. He turns when she makes contact, staring at her with a stern sort of confusion.

 

Jyn breathes. Her fingers tighten their grip.

 

“I’m going with you.”

 

\--

 

Four days is three too many to wait around.

  


 

**Jakku.**

 

She’s never even heard of where they’re going. She says as much from the co-pilot’s seat, watching as Chandrila fades out of the viewport and the shuttlecraft Cassian is flying ascends into atmo, then space.

 

“We have a lead,” is all Cassian offers.

 

She slams a new cartridge into her blaster with the heel of her hand. “You might as well tell me.”

 

He sends her a glance. She tilts her head at it. There is a wave of what almost feels like nostalgia as she watches him mentally fight with the order of things. If K-2 were still here, she thinks with a numb sort of sadness, it would almost be the trip to Jedha again.

 

“There’s rumors of an Imperial weapons facility.” His grip tightens almost imperceptibly on the flying controls. “I- we’re - going to confirm it.”

 

She’s been in the military long enough to recognize that tone. “And then what?”

 

Cassian punches in the coordinates for a hyperdrive jump. “I report to Ackbar.”

 

Her eyes go wide. “Then this could be as big as Endor?”

 

He nods. “Negotiations are no longer on the table after Liberation Day.” The shuttle around them rattles. “And this is larger than what a strikeforce is capable of. It’s likely that this will be a battle.”

 

Neither of them say _a final battle,_ but it hangs in the air. Jyn looks down at the blaster in her hand, frowning in contemplation as the ship jumps to lightspeed.

 

\--

 

According to Cassian’s intelligence reports (which she steals when he has to return to manual flight) the Imperial facility is rumored to be in what the locals refer to as the Goazan Badlands-- a series of desert canyons. The informant Cassian is supposed to meet has given them the coordinates to a small settlement named Tuanul. The shuttle lands just outside of a mismatched collection of tents and white buildings arranged in a circle.

 

“What do you know about the contact?” Jyn asks as she prepares a survival pack for desert conditions.

 

There’s the thinnest of pulls at the corners of Cassian’s lips. He wordlessly hands her a poncho. She looks up at him in confusion before she shakes it out, tugging it over her head. He wears a matching one.

 

She’s about to ask him again when the exit hatch opens, a gust of hot air immediately assaulting her face and blowing back tendrils of her hair.

 

“ _You,”_ greets a happy, chiding voice. It’s one she never thought she’d hear again. “Are _late._ ”

 

Cassian sends her what could be a grin, before he takes the first steps off the ship. Jyn stands, following after him half in a daze.

 

A man stands out on the sand to meet them. His garb is a set of simple, loose-fitting robes accompanied by a red sash around the waist. Behind him, there’s another man with a mane of hair, a resigned expression, and a heavy blaster strapped to his back.

 

“Hello, little sister,” Baze states.

 

Chirrut rests the bottom of his chin on the top of his staff. “We were waiting for you.”

 

Suddenly everything--the sun, the sands, Cassian’s quiet smile--all seems far too bright.

 

\--

 

That night they sit around a fire. The better part of three hours is spent discussing the intelligence Chirrut and Baze have been collecting during their time in Tuanal.

 

Jyn crosses her legs and links her hands in front of them. “How did you end up _here_?”

 

Baze sends her a tired look from his place across the fire. “We’re meant to follow another Light now.”

 

Jyn frowns. “What light?”

 

“It’s not here yet.” Chirrut smiles and tilts his head up, as though staring at something far away. “We were too early. But we know a lot about waiting.”

 

Baze snorts.

 

“Jakku belongs to the Force,” Chirrut further clarifies. His hand absently grabs at the sand from his place sitting on the ground. “There will be stories here that will make their mark on the galaxy.”

 

Jyn looks around. Beyond the few buildings of the village, there’s nothing but great expanses of...well, nothing.

 

Chirrut grins, as if sensing her skepticism. “Baze doesn’t believe me either.”

 

“Dirt is dirt,” his partner offers in support.

 

Cassian is silent beside her. Observing, waiting. Tomorrow evening they’ll enter the Badlands together following Chirrut’s instructions. If it’s as large as the Guardians have described it, it’s likely to be dangerous. Jyn’s hand brushes against Cassian’s. He surprises her when he takes it and intertwines their fingers.

 

“You owe me 20 credits,” Chirrut says, extending an open hand in front of Baze’s chest.

 

The former assassin eyes it slowly, before grunting in affectionate dismissal and batting it away. “I never agreed to a wager.”

 

Jyn shifts, leaning back just a little against Cassian’s shoulder, and looks up at the stars.

 

It’s the quiet moments that remind her of something _before_ . And, maybe, help her fill up the spaces where she tries to draw her image of _after_.

 

\--

 

They sleep on thin bedrolls under the night sky.

 

“I’m happy you’re with me,” Cassian says softly.

 

She kisses him.

 

\--

 

After the worst of the midday sun has past, Jyn and Cassian stand on the outskirts of the settlement. Chirrut and Baze bring them supplies. They’ve opted out of the reconnaissance mission in favor of fortifying what they can of Tuanal.

 

“Trust your instincts; stay the course,” Chirrut advises sagely.

 

“Here’s a map,” Baze supplements, handing Cassian a datapad that’s seen better days.

 

\--

 

It’s eighteen hours in the desert before they find it. Even from a distance using macrobinoculars, Jyn can see that the facility is one of the largest they’ve come across-- larger than the databank at Scarif. Heavily fortified. Protected, and therefore undoubtedly important.

 

Wordlessly, she passes the macrobinoculars to Cassian. He looks into them, expression grim.

 

“Do it,” he says tonelessly.

 

Jyn pulls out his handheld comm, and begins to input the message as Cassian snaps reconnaissance images.

 

_Imperial facility confirmed. Awaiting further orders._

 

Two hours, and documented images of the facility’s perimeter later, there’s a response.

 

_Return to Tuanal. Patch comm channel 402x9-201._

 

\--

 

“ _Sergeant Erso,_ ” General Draven starts coldly. “ _This isn’t Chandrila.”_

 

They’re in one of the communal tents of Tuanal, Jyn sitting in a squat while Cassian stands behind her. On the opposite side of the projected holo, pointedly out of view, stand Chirrut and Baze. Chirrut has a relaxed, accepting demeanor about him-- a man waiting on confirmation for what he already knows. Baze just glares at the holo of General Draven as if it’s already caused him problems.

 

She doesn’t look at Cassian.

 

“Don’t worry,” she says with a hint of a smile. “I have two more days of leave.”

 

Draven does not look amused. His blue, grainy face looks up to where Cassian stands. There’s the indisputable air of _we’ll talk later_ that Jyn has come to be exceedingly comfortable with during her stint in the Alliance military. But the nice thing about being in a Rebellion, she thinks, is that there often isn’t the resources to punish capable soldiers for longer than the cause can afford.

 

 _“There’s no helping it now,”_ he says, not bothering to hide his anger at her. The rest of his orders are pointedly directed only to Cassian. “ _I don’t need to explain to you that the martial reserves of the Imperials are dwindling. The  brainwashing prisoners of war to attack on Liberation Day proves their tactics are getting desperate.”_

 

Jyn blinks. This is the first time it’s occurred to her that the Rebellion was _winning_ the war.

 

“ _Blue Squadron reconnaissance teams have verified the presence of what we suspect to be the last of the Star Destroyers above atmosphere._

 

 _“What’s left of the Council,”_ he sneers, _“Has determined that the destruction of this facility is going to be a full, military engagement. We are going to put what’s left of the bucketheads in a corner and light the fuse.”_ Draven’s lips press together tightly. “ _Do you understand?”_

 

Her palms go cold. Jyn tries not to let her thoughts get too far into the _after._ She rubs her hands against the fabric of her pants.

 

“Sir,” Cassian affirms. She can tell, barely, that there’s the thinnest hint of excitement in him too.

 

“ _You’ll be rendezvousing with ground-level forces in two days. Coordinates will be sent to your channel after this conversation. The objective is the capture of that facility. Confirm.”_

 

“Confirmed,” Cassian states.

 

A silence stretches.

 

“ _Erso,_ ” Draven prompts with undeniable annoyance.

 

She is still trying to get her breaths to come in and out evenly. Discretely, in a movement so subtle Draven is unlikely to see it, Cassian’s fingers brush against her back.

 

Jyn laughs like a child.

 

“Confirmed, sir.”

 

Across from them, Chirrut raises his hand and slowly clenches it into a fist. Baze just might be smiling.

 

\--

 

Two days. They pass quickly.

 

Cassian spends most of the first receiving instructions from Draven and constructing false intelligence reports. Jyn passively observes as he patches into Imperial comm lines, as he establishes proxies and feeds in false Republic movements. Dismantling the Empire happens with the few quick strokes of his fingers, a series of fabricated intel reports sent to the right people.

 

She prepares their weapons. One of the first lessons Jyn’s ever learned is how to dismantle and reassemble blasters-- Saw taught it to her in place of helping her refine her Aurabesh. She thinks of him for the first time in a while as she breaks apart her standard, Rebellion-issued A280 rifle, as she clears out the integrated compensator of the A180 pistol that once belonged to Cassian. His modified A280-CFE is next.

 

 _Save the dream,_ Saw had told her.

 

Jyn snaps in a power cell. His last order to her is one she can’t fulfill. Saw Gerrera’s dream, just like Galen Erso’s or Lyra Erso’s or Cassian Andor’s, isn’t her own. Maybe she doesn’t have one, beyond trying to find the dreams that belong to other people.

 

 _Save the dream,_ he had said.

 

Jyn tests out the scope of her rifle.

 

She wonders if Saw even knew what that meant. Because of all her parents, she thinks he’s the one she most understands.

 

\--

 

The sun is beginning to set when Baze joins her. The former assassin doesn’t greet her, simply takes out one of his heavy blasters and begins to do his own maintenance.

 

“You’re joining us, then?” Jyn asks.

 

He sends her a dark look that makes her smile. She suspects she knows whose idea it is. They return to their work, and about two hours later his voice breaks the silence.

 

“You’ve lost your kyber crystal.” He doesn’t look at her when he says it, his attention preoccupied on oiling a carbine.

 

Whatever he could have said to her, that was one of the last things she expected. Jyn notices more grey in his thick hair, and understands what five years of distance might be. “On Scarif.”

 

“The beach.”

 

She nods.

 

Baze clicks the last piece of his blaster into place. “Fight well for it,” he offers.

 

And then he’s standing, his heavy hand resting briefly on her shoulder before he heads to where Chirrut has been in a prayer trance for the better part of the day. Jyn watches him stare at the monk with rare softness, before he sits against the wall of a building next to him and takes a nap.

 

\--

 

The morning before they’re set to leave, she wakes up to an empty tent. It’s still dark, the air full of that dry, desert cold. Jyn withdraws from her bedroll, pulling on a jacket that belong to Cassian, and steps out through the flap.

 

Jyn finds him sitting on a ledge, staring out at a horizon that is just beginning to lighten. His back is to her, shoulders slumped forward in a rare moment of unguarded fatigue, and she thinks his elbows are resting on his knees. Jyn wraps the coat around her and moves closer. He hears her, because Cassian looks over his shoulder and gives her a small smile--profile cast in shadows from the not-yet risen sun.

 

She sits beside him, her feet dangling over the side. It’s a long drop to the canyon below, the dirt rust-colored.

 

“Here,” he says. She glances to see him reach for something at his opposite side--a thermo. Cassian unscrews the lid, and the pungent smell of bad caf fills the air as he pours the hot liquid into the cap. His hand is steady when he offers it to her.

 

Jyn takes it into her hands and sips. It’s stale, the temperature lukewarm. She can see an oily film on the top of it.

 

Jyn closes her eyes and finds another piece for her picture of _after._

 

\--

 

Six hours later, and Jyn is sitting in a hover transport with her elbows resting on her knees. Cassian is to her side, his mind gone to wherever it is soldier’s minds go before a battle. Chirrut’s chanting fills the otherwise silent space of the hauler, its gentle insistence something that makes the other members of the Rebellion ground forces stare at the two locals with hardly disguised apprehension.

 

“I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.”

 

Baze stares right back at the soldiers. Silently daring them to tell Chirrut to stop.

  


“I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.”

 

Jyn looks to Cassian.

 

“I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.”

 

He looks back.

 

“I am one with the Force, the Force is with me.”

 

The sound of blaster fire grows louder as the hauler sinks further into the canyons.

 

“I am one with the Force, the Force is-”

 

She feels it before she hears it. There’s a sinking pull to the left of the ship, directly behind where Chirrut sits. Jyn’s numbly aware of Cassian reaching down on her safety webbing, dragging it down to fasten when there’s a wave of heat that spills over them both.

 

Then it’s all in flashes.

Baze’s hand grabbing Chirrut’s collar.

A gap of their transport’s hull ripped away in a blast of flames.

One of the Rebellion soldiers emitting a half-finished scream. Another toppling out of the gap.

 

Cassian’s hand slips from the webbing. Jyn has just a moment to try and reach for him before she feels herself being _pulled._ Her body pitches forward until there’s the sensation of weightlessness, of falling. The hole in their transport flies up faster than she can react, but she tries all the same.

 

Her hand catches on an edge of the scorched metal-- she doesn’t have time to process the pain of the burn, just the smell of it. And Jyn _holds,_ she holds onto it with everything she has and feels her shoulder muscles tear at the effort of it. The air that’s being sucked out of the puncture makes her ears ring almost painfully. Her boots kick out behind her.

 

“JYN-!”

 

It’s all too fast, too much. Her grip isn’t strong enough.

 

Jyn doesn’t even have time to call out his name before she’s thrown out of the transport and into the canyon sands below.

 

\--

 

She lands and hears something pop, something else snap. Sand flies up into her nose, eyes, and mouth just as the air leaves her lungs. Her vision goes black, white, then black again. Blaster bolts sing over her head, explosions and screams a backbeat in her ears which are still ringing. A shot lands just inches before her face, the sand glowing a molten red which will eventually become glass.

 

Adrenaline heightens her thoughts: she’d been forcibly ejected from a transport, she’d fallen about ten metres into a warzone. She needed to _move._

 

Another shot. The spots of red, melted sand pepper the field as far as she can see. Jyn’s pressed to the ground on her stomach, and so she tries to pry herself up using the toes of her boots. White pain ignites on her side, and she cries out before collapsing back into the sand. It’s her ribs. She tries to push herself up with her arm instead, only to realize one of her shoulders is dislocated.

 

There isn’t time to try anything else. Jyn grips ahead of her with her good arm and _crawls,_ bringing her knee up to the side without damaged ribs and leveraging her body with her elbow. Jyn grits her teeth against the pain of it and instead trains her eyes to find cover. About three meters away there’s a torn door from an X-Wing fighter. It might as well be a kilometer.

 

Her toes dig into the sand. She keeps her head down, uses the training Saw gave her--focus on anything but the pain. So she does. She smells carbon scoring and burned metal, hears ionized _something_ warming up. There’s the distorted calls of Rebellion ground forces issuing orders-- words like _Forward!_ And _For the Republic!_

 

Her left arm hangs lower than her right and has gone completely numb. A blessing, as her left hand is burned from trying to grab the side of the transport. Every breath she takes makes her want to scream out.

 

 _What do you smell?_ She hears in Saw’s voice. _What do you see? Use only senses that are not touch._

 

Jyn keeps crawling, returns her focus outside of her pain. The metal door looms closer.

 

She hears the distant sound of a whistle. Jyn swears through gritted teeth, knowing all she can do is keep moving. The detonator explodes somewhere to her left, a woman that is not her cries, and a rain of hot sand sprays onto Jyn’s back. She grits her teeth, and with one final _push,_ she throws herself under the door’s protective hull.

 

Blasters fire all around her, Jyn scrambles until her back is to the door, her legs sprawled out in front of her. She takes a breath. Two.

 

Someone dives behind the cover after her. Jyn looks up and sees a Stormtrooper ducking down under cover. He turns, glassy dark eyes staring at her as if just realizing he wasn’t alone in this shelter.

 

The Stormtrooper fumbles for his rifle-

 

Jyn reaches with her good arm for the A-180 on her belt, tears it from the holster, and shoots him in the chest.

 

\--

 

The first thing she needs to do is to set her arm. Jyn does her best to drag the Stormtrooper’s body before her as extra cover, a difficult feat with both her appendages and next to impossible now. People are dying around her, but Jyn makes herself mute the noise. She knows from experience that relocating a shoulder on her own will be a fool’s errand-- instead, she shrugs painfully out of her jacket. Shaking fingers bring the fabric under her elbow, over her opposite shoulder, down around her neck. Her hand spasms, so she pulls it tight with her teeth, until the arm is pressed firmly against her side.

 

There’s nothing she can do for the ribs aside from hope they aren’t broken.

 

Sand shoots up around her in more sprays. Jyn counts them out, trying to find the best place to break cover.

 

“REBEL SCUM!” She hears from a few meters away.

 

It’s as good of an opening as any. She rolls to the side and takes aim.

 

\--

 

She stays camped there for what feels like hours. It’s only when she hears the heavy footfalls of terrain vehicles that she dares to attempt running. Jyn closes her eyes, tries to position them. When she thinks she has enough time to _try,_ she rolls out from behind the door and advances as fast as she can to the next cover she can find--a burned out speeder.

 

Jyn peers around it.

Sees three AT-STs advancing.

Rolls back behind the speeder.

 

“ _Force,_ ” she swears to herself, her hand shaking from holding the blaster pistol too long, too tightly.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees a grenadier rush by. Foolishly and bravely, the older woman screams what sounds like _Alderaan_ before she shoots something up into the sky. A charge goes off against the side of the AT-ST just as a rain of blaster fire cuts her down. The terrain vehicle collapses in slow, goliath momentum, toppling over and taking out the next AT-ST next to it. Jyn covers her head as shards of burning metal fall from it.

 

Jyn breathes. Keeps going.

 

\--

 

Night begins to fall. Jyn eventually finds herself in one of the ravine’s trenches, where she runs into a pack of troopers. They’ve been together since Uryut, one explains as a way to distract her when their field medic pushes her shoulder back into place. There’d been 20 deployed to Jakku.

 

Four are left.

 

Jyn numbly lets the medic apply bacta to her ribs.

 

“You made it all day on this?” He asks suspiciously.

 

Jyn holds out her hand next. He does his best to pry the fabric out of the burn with minimal pain, but she still sees the white.

 

“There was a transport shot down,” she asks through grinding teeth. “On the Western side of the ravines. Do you know what happened to it?”

 

The medic sends her an incredulous stare--like she doesn’t understand what a ridiculous question that is to ask. “There’s lots of transports,” he finally settles on.

 

She knows. The fingers of her good hand curl into a fist.

 

“We sleep in two hour shifts,” the medic explains, wrapping cloth around her ruined palm. “You’re welcome to join the rotation.”

 

Numbly, she nods.

 

“You can have first sleep,” the medic continues, sending her that same look that is somehow skeptical and appraising. “You look like you need it.”

 

She nods again, curling into the side of the trench, blaster not far from her grip.

 

“What’s your name?” Asks the youngest of them, the same one that told her about Uryut. He can’t be far out of his teens.

 

“Jyn.”

 

A stillness comes over the group.

 

“Jyn _Erso_?” The medic clarifies.

 

“That’s me.”

 

The four troopers send each other looks that Jyn doesn’t have the energy to interpret. Her eyes slide down and her body collapses into a few moments of darkness that she hopes she gets to wake from.

 

\--

 

“Stormtroopers-!”

 

Whoever is on watch is cut down by a blaster bolt. Jyn is instantly awake, hand on the blaster and eyes searching out. On instinct, she fires out into the smoke, hears a gargled cry and sees a white body topple over.

 

“Take point!” The youngest instructs and Jyn obeys. She knows how units form routines, and doesn’t want to interfere with theirs.

 

As soon as she has a chance, she switches to the rifle, her arm still aching. Jyn does nothing but _react,_ body divorced from her mind as she lines up shot after shot.

 

Once the smoke clears, a Stormtrooper scouting party lies dead and they’ve lost the medic.  


\--

 

She loses the est of the troopers a few hours later. They’ve caught up with the forward Rebellion troops, boots full of sand and skin burning as they advance past the shadowed walls of the canyons and out into open desert. Jyn relies on her rifle more than her blaster or truncheons, camping behind vantage points and sniping where she can.

 

She’s lining up another shot when the bright, brilliant sun of Jakku suddenly goes black. A hush falls over the battlefield as everyone, Rebellion and Imperial troops alike, tilt their heads up.

 

The massive silhouette of a triangle floats above them, blanketing the entire field in shadow. Jyn swallows.

 

“What’s that?” Asks the youngest to her side, who she’s mentally dubbed Uryut.

 

It registers with her in a slow horror. “Star Destroyer,” she breathes.

 

“In _atmo_?”

 

“Run,” she whispers, as she notices the triangle slowly rotating until its point is aimed at the surface.

 

“What?”

 

“Run!” She cries, throwing her rifle over her shoulder and moving as fast as her legs can carry her.

 

The shooting stops on both sides, and then there’s only panicked cries as everyone collectively realizes what’s happening. There’s a heavy, lurching sound and allegiances are forgotten as everyone begins to run in whatever direction is _far away._

 

Jyn doesn’t look back, sprinting even though her now-bruised ribs are a stabbing feeling in her side and her lungs are about to escape her chest. In her peripheral vision, she notices others running with her-- blurs of Rebellion browns and greens and flashes of Imperial white. One Stormtrooper trips over a body and goes down hard. Jyn doesn’t have time to stop for them. None of them have any time at all.

 

The Star Destroyer gradually gains momentum as it falls to the surface. There’s the sound of groaning metal, followed by a screech as the massive warship collides with the ground. There’s a silent moment, then a massive ripple as shockwaves overtake the battlefield.

 

Jyn has just enough time to throw her arms across her face before a wall of sand washes over them all.

 

\--

 

She’s buried and not sure if she’s dead enough to stop moving. She thinks she hears her mother’s voice, calling her name.

 

Then Cassian’s. _Just come back._

 

Jyn’s not coherent enough to realize she’s hallucinating. Instead she thinks of herself as back at the bottom of the cave of her mind. Above her, there’s light breaking through in a thin but unwavering halo.

 

_Just come back._

 

Jyn digs in her fingers, writhes her legs until there’s room for them to move, to kick up. Her lungs are burning but she looks up at the brightness as if she can hold it. Then she starts _climbing._

 

 _Just a bit further,_ she thinks. _And I’ll leave for good._

 

In the wide, empty expanse of what would later be called the Graveyard of Giants, a hand breaks the surface. And Jyn pulls herself up out of the sand before she collapses hard against the ground.

 

\--

 

She wakes up to something pricking her skin.

 

“Patient X20-3 indicating signs of consciousness,” a lifeless voice intones above her. “Patient, please confirm.”

 

Something smells like it’s burned. It takes her a moment to realize it’s her.

 

“Patient, please confirm,” the voice inquiries again.

 

Jyn blinks open her eyes, already stinging. A bright, red light looks down at her.

 

“Patient, please confirm,” it says.

 

 _Droid,_ she thinks. _You’re a droid._

 

“Patient, please-”

 

“What happened?” She rasps. Jyn sounds half-dead even to her own ears.

 

“Patient confirmed,” the droid answers crisply, hovering to another station. There’s the click of the button, the sound of something liquid running. Jyn’s eyes feel heavy once more.

 

“Recommending Patient X20-3 for intensive bacta submersion-”

 

It fades.

  


 

**Chandrila, outside Hanna City.**

 

Jyn wakes up for the second time to someone poking her in the shoulder.

 

“See? You don’t look so bad, kid.”

 

She parts her chapped lips. Now she smells sterile, which she imagines is a step above burned. “Hate. Being called kid. _Sir._ ”

 

She hears the soft chuckle of Han Solo. Jyn opens her eyes and looks to the side. It’s less bright, less painful, than last time with the droid. Han is out of uniform, sitting in his usual Corellain fare and folding a hand behind his head now that he’s successfully bothered her back into consciousness. Her head is spinning from no doubt an impressive cocktail of drugs, brain trying and failing to catch up to her body.

 

“Lighten up,” Han says. He shifts, leaning forward and grabbing onto one of her hands. His expression is _happy_ in a way that’s earnest without his usual skepticism to hamper it. “We just won a war, you know.”

 

“...What?”

 

Han smirks. “You were out for quite the week.”

 

She can’t process what she’s hearing. So she doesn’t. Instead, she makes to stand, the hand Han’s not holding fastening itself to the railing of her medward bed. “Do we know who-”

 

Han presses down on her shoulder gently. “Relax, drink your milk. And the good General Solo will tell you what you missed.”

 

\--

 

Two locals found her in the desert, two days after the Star Destroyer decimated part of the field. Jyn doesn’t need to guess which ones they were. After her one in a million rescue, she was immediately shipped to the Alliance support ship _Tranquility,_ where she was administered emergency care. From there, back to Chandrila for extensive treatments. Han conspiratorially shares that he thinks it’s in part due to Mon Mothma’s influence.

 

A Concordance was signed. A ceasefire. So far, it’s been successful.

 

But that’s all secondary. Jyn stares at Han and makes it clear that her attention is not going to waiver.

 

“What about Cassian?”

 

Han’s brows lift. He leans back, as though he has to think about it. She’s never wanted to strangle a man with her bare hands more.

 

“Rumor has it that the last of Jakku’s ground troops are arriving in Hangar 2.” He winks. “Might want to try and catch them.”

 

Jyn throws her aching, broken body into a stand and begins a hobbling run across the base.

 

\--

 

She gets there just as the last man steps off the transport. From her place across the crowded hangar, she can make enough of him out for her heart to break. His arm’s in a sling, his gait uneven. There’s a thickness around his torso that implies he’s heavily bandaged underneath his shirt.

 

Jyn makes her way forward, everything around her fading out to the edges as she keeps that man in sight. Her feet are bare on the tarmac, body covered in bacta patches. Someone catches her with their elbow, but she doesn’t notice. Her attention is only directed forward, her body is only drawn by one singularity.

 

Jyn knows the instant he sees her. His brows furrow into a grimace, as though whatever he’s seeing can’t be actualized. But she keeps making her shambling walk to the transport, breathing coming in strained but the pain being irrelevant. Cassian’s grimace changes then, morphs into something else. Shock, maybe. Relief. Awe. She doesn’t know. But suddenly he’s running in her direction, shoving other soldiers aside as he carves a line.

 

As soon as he’s within reach, Jyn throws her arms around his neck with as much force as she’s able to summon. Cassian buries his face into her shoulder, his good arm picking her up around the middle and clutching her with enough strength that she _lifts,_ toes skimming the ground _._

 

And then they collapse, as though whatever strength they had been storing now recognized this was the end. Cassian sinks to his knees and she follows him, not breaking her hold for anything. Not breaking her hold again.

 

They sit like that, embracing each other in the middle of a sea of Rebellion forces, for a very long time.


	5. Epilogue: The Birthday of Poe Dameron

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a wrap, friends! i want to thank everyone so much for the wonderful reception to this short fic <3

**Yavin IV.**

 

The jungle’s a quieter place already. Jyn rests her forehead against the viewport and looks down as they fly over the remnants of Base One. From the top, the place where it started for her is just an odd collection of rectangles: bunkers, buildings, airstrips, and hangars. There’s no longer men and women stationed in the towers recording their ship registries. No patchwork armada being prepped to go off somewhere dangerous. Jyn imagines that if they hit the ground, they’d see that the jungle was starting to take the abandoned facility back from them.

 

To her left, Cassian keeps flying. The rectangles are soon lost to the greens of treetops. After about ten minutes, a small clearing comes into view. It’s littered with several bunkers, sheds, and one wornout R-Z1 A-Wing.

 

She looks down at her lap and idly traces over the button eyes of the stuffed fighter pilot she brought with on impulse.

 

\--

 

It’s strange that this is her first time meeting Shara Bey. Because of Kes, it feels like they ought to have known each other for years. His wife is someone for whom the word _striking_ was reserved, even with her hands in gardening gloves and wearing an old flightsuit stained with oil she cuts an imposing figure. She smiles easier than Jyn ever could, bringing the back of her hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

 

“It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says by way of greeting. “Though I feel like we’ve already met.”

 

Jyn nods, taking Shara Bey’s hand when she offers it. It’s a military handshake, despite the remnants of weeds plastered to the fabric. In that moment, Jyn takes an immediate liking to this woman in a way that reminds her of her immediate liking to Chirrut. “You too.”

 

Shara Bey’s eyes dart to over Jyn’s shoulder, where Cassian emerges from the shuttle. “Cassian,” she says with a familiarity that Jyn takes to mean they’ve served together at some point. “Haven’t seen you since Burnin Konn. New beard?”

 

“It’s the same beard. Just older.” He stands next to Jyn, their overnight pack slung over his shoulder. His eyes survey the Damerons’ home, landing on a sapling tree that seems to, well, _glow._ “Landscaping?”

 

Shara Bey claps her hands together, small clods of dirt flying from her gloves. “I’m a woman of many talents.” She looks at Jyn again, her gaze landing on the small doll. “Is that for Poe?” She asks with a pleasant sort of surprise.

 

Jyn tosses it back and forth between her hands. The cloth is soft, the pilot’s limbs splay out with the movement. At once she feels both presumptuous and idiotic.  “I didn’t know what to bring.”

 

Shara Bey looks at the doll more closely. Sees its orange flightsuit and smiles. “He’ll love it. Come on, him and Kes are in the house.”

 

\--

 

It’s been almost six months since she’s seen Kes Dameron. She didn’t expect to see him again like this,  standing over what looked to be a lopsided dessert of some kind, an apron around his waist, and a toddler sitting on his shoulders.

 

“Wondering when you were getting in,” he says good-naturedly without looking away from what he’s making. “Say hi, Poe.”

 

The toddler grips his father’s hair with his thick fingers, head turning to look at the incomers. Poe’s eyes go from Jyn, to Cassian, to Shara Bey, and then back to Cassian. After less than ten seconds, he’s smiling wide with a mouth that has yet to acquire a full set of teeth.

 

“Hi!”

 

“Hi,” Jyn replies back. Poe’s smile is infectious, and she finds herself making an understated mimicry of it.

 

Kes gestures with a spatula to a low-seated table. “Have a seat, we’re almost done here.”

 

To her right, Cassian stands silent. She sends him a cursory look, but his face is in the carefully neutral state that lets her know he is casing unfamiliar terrain. Jyn brushes her hand against his before she finds an empty chair. He sits next to her, as Shara Bey stands beside her husband and son.

 

“Caf?” She asks. “Or fermented milk, if you want something a little stronger.”

 

“No thank you,” Cassian answers. Jyn shakes her head in a shared rejection.

 

Poe, still smiling, leans down to Kes’s ear. “Who are they?” His whisper isn’t quite tactful.

 

“That’s Jyn and Cassian. They’re from the war,” Kes patiently explains.

 

“Oh.”

 

 _They’re from the war._ It’s a fitting description.

 

Shara Bey reaches up to ruffle Poe’s hair before she makes to sit at the table, mug of caf in her hand. She’s relaxed, but there are certain habits that Jyn thinks she hasn’t gotten rid of--her opposite hand comes to an immediate rest by her side, where a holster might normally be. Shara Bey angles her chair so her back is to the wall instead of the door.

 

The Kes and Poe unit pivot, Kes holding a platter with a cake on it between his hands. “Someone take this kid from me.”

 

Jyn is surprised when it’s Cassian who stands up first. He and Poe stare at each other before Poe raises up his arms. Slowly, Cassian slides his hands under them and lifts him from Kes’s shoulders. The toddler then dangles, suspended about a foot out from Cassian’s chest.

 

Poe giggles. “Down, down!”

 

Cassian lowers him. Poe makes a straight run for his mother’s lap. The hand at Shara Bey’s side, the one ready to fire a blaster that isn’t there, comes up to pull her son in a hug against her.

 

Kes sets down the cake on the table, smiles easily. “Happy birthday, Poe.”

 

Cassian smiles in his rehearsed way, and Jyn awkwardly offers up the doll of the X-wing fighter.

 

Poe takes it from her and looks at it with wide eyes. “What’s its name?”

 

“...Beeny,” she assigns, because it’s the only name she can think of. She hopes that fighter doll has a better fate than her old Stormtrooper.

 

“What do you say, Poe?” Shara Bey prompts.

 

“For the Rebellion!” He cries.

 

Kes looks at Jyn, rubs the back of his neck. “We’re working on it.”

 

\--

 

The rest of their visit passes comfortably. Shara Bey takes Poe out flying, Kes and Cassian compare modifications on blasters. They share a drink together after Poe’s gone to bed, and somehow find things to talk about other than war stories.

 

It’s a slow and quiet day. Like moving through bacta. Like Jyn has taken a sidestep from her life.

 

“Think you’re ready to settle down?” Kes asks her, the two of them sharing another drink just to themselves in the Pathfinder tradition.

 

Jyn stares out at the jungle, at the space the Damerons have carved out for themselves. She tries, briefly, to imagine her and Cassian in their place. His days spent repairing vintage blasters and cooking. Hers gardening. Getting up every morning at the same time to make a pot of caf.

 

It’s a good life. One Kes, Shara Bey, and Poe deserve. They’d fought for it.

 

“No,” she answers.

 

Kes sighs, but there’s a smile on his face as he refills her glass.

 

“Figured you’d say that.”

 

\--

 

They’re ready to leave the next afternoon. Poe has somehow attached himself to Cassian’s side, a little shadow that Cassian doesn’t know what to do with.

 

“Are you going back to war now?” He asks, small hand gripping Cassian’s and swinging it. Cassian passively allows the action but does not participate.

 

“The war’s over Poe,” Shara Bey reminds him gently.

 

Part of why they were able to come here. They’d been granted leave for a week--both of them. Something to do with not being fit yet for active duty, though that reasoning felt thin.

 

“Where you heading next?” Kes asks, slinging an arm over Shara Bey’s shoulders.

 

“Takodana,” Cassian answers, arm still being numbly propelled back and forth.

 

“That where you’re from?”

 

“Fest,” Cassian corrects. His tone implies that he will not be going there. Just as Jyn will not be going to Lah’Mu.

 

“We’ve a friend who ended up there,” Jyn supplies.

 

Shara Bey looks at Jyn, then Cassian. Jyn sees her reach a conclusion. “Must be that cargo hauler.”

 

Jyn smiles. It’s been over five years since she’s last seen Bodhi. The fact that he’s found himself working in an infamous pirate den after war’s end is somehow unsurprising.

 

“We’d better get going,” Cassian says softly.

 

Jyn nods, turning to the Damerons. “Thanks.” For being there. For continuing on after war. For living.

 

Kes steps away from his wife in order to pull Jyn into a hug. “Safe travels.”

 

She returns it.

 

\--

 

As Cassian fires up the shuttle for flight, Jyn looks out the viewport. Her gaze lands on Poe, who is holding up Beeny and making its boneless arm wave.

 

She gives a small wave back as they lift up into the air.  


\--

 

They’re barely out of atmo when Cassian’s voice breaks their silence.

 

“Is that what you want?”

 

Jyn is surprised to see he’s looking at her instead of straight ahead. His hands are tight on the controls and he presses his lips together.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“When our week is up…” His stare is intent, searching. “Where are you going?”

 

She knows how hard it is for him to even ask. Jyn pretends to think it over.

 

“My father tried farming, once.”

 

Cassian’s face remains carefully neutral. A stoicism so well-crafted that she’s sure he’s spent years perfecting it. It does what it’s meant to accomplish, because Jyn is grinning before she can really stop herself.

 

“Jyn,” he sighs.

 

The grin doesn’t leave her face, but it does lessen as she tries to give a better answer.

 

“Truth is, I don’t know.” Jyn toys with the edges of her fingerless gloves. “...Mon Mothma’s made me an offer.”

 

His sharp attention is almost palpable. “What kind?”

 

“I believe the position is ‘political aide’,” Jyn smiles, a little self-deprecating. “I don’t think that’s what I’ll be doing.”

 

“You’d work for the Senate,” he deducts.

 

“Something like that.”

 

The position is a place in the New Republic Security Bureau. From what she knows so far, it could be described with words like _agent_ or even _saboteur_ rather than Mon Mothma’s tactful _diplomat_. It wouldn’t be much different than her work in the Pathfinders. Just civilian. Contracted. Freelance. Other appealing words that mean her life, in some ways, gets to be partially her own.

 

Jyn’s considering it. Because she is _not good_ at being in the military. For every miraculous outcome she managed, it was made expressly clear that it barely balanced out her routine acts of insubordination. Routines that might not be so easily overlooked now that there wasn’t an immediate war to fight. And after Jakku, it’s become important that she gets to go where and when she wants.

 

Cassian’s next statement is a careful thing. “So you want to keep going.”

 

Jyn thinks, maybe, he might look relieved.

 

“The universe is a big place,” she muses. Jyn grabs his hand in hers, the motion making their simple rings clack lightly against one another. “Might as well make our way through it together.”

 

Cassian smiles, rubs his thumb across her knuckles, and sets their next course.


End file.
